A Ship out of Water
by Unikorn
Summary: Now that I have seen AWE, I must kidnap all the characters and carry them all off into a universe of my own. In this AU, Jack awakens to find his afterlife is not what he bargained for. NonAWE compliant. Please read and review.
1. Chapter 1

A/N It has been a LONG while since I wrote a fanfic … and there was only the one that is listed here. I have had ideas for a couple since, but I've let them slide away from me before I got started. In this genre I've read so many that I'm worried that my idea has been fed from someone else's story, or several someone else's stories. (Yeah, my grammar is that whacked.) If I've stolen someone else's ideas I apologize beforehand. There is no real attempt to plagiarize anyone.

But seeing as how I'm not getting paid for this, and that I'm not turning it in for a grade, and that I really doubt someone is going to take a contract out on me … I'm not going to worry about it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean nor any of its characters. I acknowledge Disney and their writers as those who created them and beg their forgiveness for commandeering them for my own nefarious schemes. (This will be the one and only disclaimer. After all, it's only one story.)

Chapter 1: Memories

It was a gruesome last memory, one of gigantic sharp teeth tearing away his already disintegrating flesh from bone thanks to the powerful digestive juices spat at him along with his hat, which had miraculously survived those same juices. He had hurtled himself headlong into the maw of the Kraken, since there really was no other choice in the matter. Granted, there _was _another choice, but as he imagined he was going to end up in the monster's innards even had he tried to escape, he decided that _he _would make that choice. After all, he was Captain Jack Sparrow.

He twitched his nose, finding it a little difficult to concentrate on dying with sand creeping up into it with each inhale. He sneezed, and squirmed, making himself more comfortable. Not easy, this dying thing, what with sand and last memories playing with his mind and body. With that thought, his eyes blinked open. Last memories were supposed to be that. Nothing was supposed to happen after that to make more memories, which was precisely what was going on.

He rolled over and sat up, warily looking around. He was sitting on what looked like a beach, but unlike any beach he had ever seen before. For one thing, there were no waves. Even the swamp waters around Tia Dalma's hut had a current. This water had no discernible movement, making Jack feel a little sick to his stomach as he sat watching it. It wasn't natural. He peered around the beach where he was sitting and saw nothing but sand. Even inland there seemed to be no change in topography to indicate erosion due to waves. Oh. That's right. No waves.

Jack glared around at his surroundings, standing and patting himself down, doing a quick inventory check. He had all his effects, including his sword and scabbard, compass, hat and coat. He brushed off the sand that clung to him, wiped the grains from his face and turned around slowly, trying to discover some landmark to indicate where he was.

He felt curiously aware, alert, a feeling that he had not had for quite a while without having had to go through the shakes to get there. He didn't like it. Too many sensations crowded his consciousness, a consciousness he shouldn't have had to experience at this point of time. By rights he should have been crushed into pulp at the bottom of the sea, or at least being used as nutrients for a giant cephalopod. Instead he found himself hopping on one foot, as he pulled off a boot to shake out the sand that had inexplicably collected there, giving him a decidedly uncomfortable itchy spot between his toes, having ground its way through his stockings. He growled to himself. Being sober while dead was Hell.

In fact that is what this felt like. Hell. No movement from the water, no landmarks on the beach, no rum, no women, no sun, for the sky looked perpetually overcast, no ship to take him away. Nothing. Just sand, a waveless sea, not even a wind blowing to indicate a moving forward in time. Yet the memories kept building, kept collecting. How many memories was he going to have to live through before he was going to go mad? Or was this life, or even afterlife? Was he even going to be allowed to go mad?

Having pulled his boots off, he decided to try the water. He yanked off his knee length hose and waded out a little ways, trying to sense any motion at all, any undertow that wasn't apparent to his eyes. He still felt nothing. He dipped his palm into the water, and raised a handful to his lips for a taste. It didn't even have the tang of brine, an indication of any life whatsoever. In fact, it tasted like the water on board ship, just before the mold sets in. No flavor. Flat. He spat it back out, not feeling thirsty enough to drink it. For that matter, he didn't feel thirsty at all, nor hungry.

Jack waded back onto the beach and waited a few minutes to let his feet dry before donning his hose. As he pulled his boots back on, he had a very brief moment when he regretted having lived his life as a pirate, in view of this being the result. Following that lapse in self-importance, a flood of rather enjoyable rum-tinted memories came to mind, all due to his being a pirate. Memories from before his branding were less savory, considering his all too brief attempt at a righteous lifestyle. He decided to brush those aside and concentrate on enjoying the more recent ones. He smirked as he remembered the wine, women and songs that he had experienced throughout his illustrious career as a pirate.

Without even realizing what he was doing, Jack started walking. There seemed to be nothing better to do, so he developed a steady pace and moved along, keeping the sea to his portside, the unchanging landscape to his starboard. His gait, steadier than usual due to his sobriety, kept him moving forward. As he filed through his memories to keep the boredom from overtaking him, his eyes scanned the view in front of him, and his ears kept tuned to what might have been sneaking up on him from behind.

He found himself singing the little pirate ditty that Elizabeth had taught him. Suddenly, he stopped with that thought. Elizabeth … or Miss Swann as she insisted on his referring to her. Either way, she was still a wench. A wench that shackled him to his own ship so he would die to save her own sorry hide. He glared at that memory, even pouted. She had even the audacity to plant a kiss on his hungry lips as she maneuvered him backwards to the mast where the shackles had hung. Even though he had felt the sting of her betrayal when he heard the clink they made as she fastened them, he had felt a self-righteous wave of pride. He had won her over to his side, whether or not she was aware of it. He applauded himself as he whispered his observation to her, after her explanations and denials. Not sorry indeed. As for right now, and hopefully right now would not last forever, he had been doomed to Hell by that conniving woman.

Instead of dwelling on the here and now, he decided to continue his march forward, pursuing instead the recollections of his conversations that he had with her through the years that they had known each other. Given that a lot of time was spent together on both the island and on board the Pearl as they looked for Will, they hadn't had too many conversations together. Yes, they had enjoyed each other's company on the island, alleviating the bleakness of their situation with bottles of rum and a lot of singing. The little bit they shared with each other began to form a bond that strengthened despite themselves, leading Jack to repeatedly point out to the young girl, or rather, woman, how alike they really were. He had no idea where he had wanted to take that at first, even though the idea of sharing her personal space for a few minutes had run through his mind on more than one occasion. That thought caused another smirk. Yet, for some reason, whether created by her or by simple circumstance, he never was allowed to approach her too familiarly. He wasn't sure if he would have taken the chance had he even been able to.

As if bidden by the track of his thoughts, a change of scenery made him come to his senses. On a particularly flat piece of beach, he came to a halt. Stretched out in front of him was a set of footprints, leading away from the edge of the water, imprinted as if the sand was still wet from a wave that never had washed ashore. They headed away from him, looking as if the creator of said prints were wandering a bit as they moved forward. He followed the prints with his eyes and in the distance saw the figure to which they led. He stepped onward again, quickening his pace to catch up. As he advanced, a dread began to steal over him. Of all the people he would have liked to have had with him on this lonely and interminable beach, she was not the one whom he was most eager to be ... with.

Apparently hearing his approach, the figure turned. She was a sight with her white chemise billowing on the wind that suddenly seemed to spring from nowhere. It whipped her hair into her face and eyes, causing her to pull it away as she watched him draw nearer. Somehow he felt the whole thing was staged for his benefit, especially with the sultry look that entered her eyes. His own eyes narrowed dangerously as he addressed her.

"Seems to me that your little plan failed, Lizzie. You've joined me in Hell."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N I got my first review within 15 minutes of posting the first chapter of this story! Boy was I shocked. Thank you Cloudburst2000 for responding so quickly! And thank you also to all the others who have responded on- and off-list. It's certainly encouraging to know you are looking forward to my updates.

I hate to be a party-pooper, but my posting of this story will be sporadic at best. I do have a life off the computer, which includes long workweeks as well as putting myself through school and trying to be a good mother to my two boys. Hence the rather infrequent stories. However, this particular story wouldn't just go away like the others did. Enjoy!

Chapter 2: The Battle

Elizabeth glanced around distractedly. She seemed confused with what seemed to be happening around her. When her gaze returned to Jack's face, he noted that she did indeed recognize him, but her vague manner baffled him. He had expected a retort from her, even wanted it from her, having enjoyed their verbal battles from before their apparent deaths. He waited petulantly, lips pursed, brow furrowed, as she approached him.

"Is that where we are?" she murmured. "How … interesting." His head jerked back as his eyes grew wider, peering around incredulously.

"Interesting?" He looked closer to see if her eyes were bloodshot. If she had been drinking, he wanted some.

"I had thought it would be more … fiery," she said. "That would have been far more uncomfortable than this. This is fairly tame."

"Fiery. No my dear Lizzie, there is nothing here for you to burn. I do recall your predilection for fires, but as you can see there are no trees, hence no wood. And since there is no wood, and no reason to ignite said wood, there are no fires. After all, the rum is gone. There is none of that here, along with the aforesaid wood." With that he stomped past her, intending to continue his trek. He was not about to spend his eternity in Hell arguing with the wench.

"Well, if it's rum you want …," she began, turning as he strode past. He growled in his throat as she hurried to catch up with him. He deliberately lengthened his strides, hoping to make it clear to her that her company was not really wanted. This was indeed Hell.

"Captain, please, slow down," she said breathlessly when the both of them were virtually running. "I … have … rum." He came to such a sudden stop that she plowed into him, knocking him off balance.

"Well, why didn't you say so, luv," he replied silkily, straightening himself up and turning to her, hoping she wasn't lying. He wondered at her sudden change of heart about the "vile drink", but a thirsty man was willing to take any advantage offered willingly. Well … he wasn't exactly thirsty, but he certainly could use a drink to start dulling those damned sensations.

She stood there, holding a bottle full of an amber liquid out to him, her own version of a smirk written on her face. He was almost afraid to take it from her hand, so he snatched it quickly, as if he might get shackled again to something if he lingered too long near her. He uncorked the bottle and tentatively took a whiff, halfway expecting it to be as odorless and tasteless as the water. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he stared at her, wondering what she was up to. It was definitely rum, but what were her intentions in giving it to him?

"It's the last bottle," she told him. "The rest of the rum was used against the Kraken, remember?" She cocked her eyebrow and grinned.

"You used rum against the Kraken?" he asked incredulously.

"You shot it, remember? It was in with the gunpowder," she answered. He winced, recalling that he also was not there to hear the order to gather it. He might have countermanded it, had he known what they were doing. Instead he had been rowing towards the island to get the heart back from Norrington, until he thought about looking at his compass to try to see where the former Commodore had gone. Instead, the compass had told him something completely different, where his true desires were.

"Well, in that case, we had better make this last, then," he muttered irritably. He corked the bottle and started to shove it into his sash for safekeeping when it was plucked from his hands. Elizabeth took a swig for herself, and winced, shuddering as the sweet liquid went down her throat. "Oi, that _is_ mine, you know," he snapped. She looked at him coolly and corked the bottle, shoving past him, heading the same direction he had been marching.

Jack stood stock still in shock at her audacity. She had offered him his own rum, and then took it away. Was she toying with him? He whipped around and chased after her. She had his rum and he'd be damned if she was going to get to keep it. Not that he wasn't already damned. He knew he was in Hell if this was the torture he was going to have to endure. If he had been a praying man he knew now would have been a good time to start.

When he caught up to her, wondering how she had gotten such a head start on him, he peered around her, plucking at her sleeves, looking for the rum. He could not figure out where she had stashed it. He licked his lips, and noticed her glaring out from the corner of her eye at his antics.

"Do you realize what a sot you are?" she asked, annoyed. "You really need to start worrying about how to get us out of here, instead of who is carrying your rum."

"Wench, you _gave_ it back to me," he grumbled petulantly. "It was the _least_ you could have done after leaving me to die! What _have _you got against me? We're already in Hell. Must you insist on making it worse?"

"Leaving you to die?" she shouted back at him. "How about that little trip you took while all those on board were battling the Kraken? You left."

"Oh, and I suppose you managed to get away all by yourself. Need I remind _you _who fired that shot that destroyed my rum supply?" he ground out through gritted teeth. He shuddered at the thought. Somehow, she was always around when large amounts of rum went up in flames. Feeling a little bit of déjà vu, he whined at her, "Where's the rum gone?"

"If we are here for any length of time, Captain, you will need to ration that little bit of rum," she reasoned. "You cannot be trusted to keep it on your person. It would end up completely gone by the end of the day."

Jack rolled his eyes. Bugger, the woman was insufferable. He saw her logic, but it was his rum after all. _And _she left him to die. She owed him.

"Captain," she broke through his thoughts. "It's getting dark." He looked around and realized that, once again, she was right. The sky had darkened somewhat, but since he could see no sun, he didn't know where it was setting. He didn't like this feeling of having no direction. It was almost as bad if not worse than watching the waveless sea. Jack was nonplussed, turned around, out of kilter. He really needed that rum.

He sank onto the sand, dejected. Here he was, in Hell, with this idiot woman. Could she not see how he was suffering? He peered up at her looking for pity, and was startled to see a little compassion form on her face. He hadn't expected it, even if he was looking for it. He heard her sigh as she sat down next to him.

"I'm not sorry for keeping the rum away from you," she said, "but don't you see? It's for your own good." He felt his jaw drop. She just couldn't stay away from the non-apologies. He glared at her out the corner of his eye and shook his head.

They sat there silent for a while, with him seething, her just waiting, and both just staring out at the motionless water.

"Did you notice the water, Captain?" she began, and Jack erupted.

"For God's sake, Lizzie, you've never called me that before without being prompted! Why start now? Are you _trying _to make this Hell more like … well … Hell, or am I going to have to throttle you to get my rum back?" Instead, he pushed himself up and turned to stalk away.

"I don't really see what that has to do with the fact I won't give you your rum back, unless of course both are irritating to you, but I would have thought that you of all people would have preferred to hear me call you Captain rather than Jack!" She stood up to follow him.

"Well, of course. We're in Hell, where there is no ship, no rum, except for the one bottle you won't let me have, a rather annoying chatterbox of a woman that also happens to be my murderer after tricking me into a rather passionate kiss, which I must say doesn't astonish me at all in view of the way she's been mooning after me for weeks, so why shouldn't she be here to exasperate me in Hell, probably for all of eternity?" He stopped looking bleakly back at her, eyes wide with the realization that, yes, this was truly Hell. Then his brow furrowed.

"I just thought of something. You can't be her." He leaned forward scanning her face, noting that it definitely looked like Elizabeth's face. "You, I mean, she rowed away with the others before the Kraken got back. Who the blazes are you, anyway?"


	3. Chapter 3

Ok ok ok… I'm going to add a chapter. I hadn't planned on spending this evening writing but I have to keep going or I will lose interest. Can't let my friends and other fans down.

I have gotten some speculations from various people as to whether or not Elizabeth is really there, and who she really is. I'm just going to tell all of you… You have to read the story.

And now … on with the tale …

Chapter 3: Revelations

"Oh please," she huffed, glaring furiously at him. "The Kraken came back too soon. They needed some distraction for it in order to get away." She flounced a few yards down the beach and plopped back down into the sand. She had the bottle of rum in her hand and took another generous swallow. Hearing Jack start running towards her, she corked it hurriedly and slipped it away before he reached her. As dark as it had gotten, Jack had missed where she hid it.

"Curse you woman," he growled with a strangled voice.

"Been there. No fun really," she muttered in return.

"Well, perhaps you should be a mite more careful about how you treat a man's rum." He sighed heavily. He wasn't about to try wrestling her for it. He was certain that as infuriated as he was with her that he would easily snap her in two. He shook his fists at her, snarled, and stomped on down the beach. He, too, landed into the sand, wondering if he could get tired enough to sleep. It wasn't as if he had anything to drink to ease his way into that blessed unconsciousness.

Suddenly, what she had just said sank in. His head snapped her direction and he gazed at her figure in the darkness. He shook his head, incredulous.

"So, they threw you to the Kraken? Whose idea was that? _Why_ would they do that? " he fired at her. He knew they were all pirates, at least all save the eunuch, Will, but still, he had a difficult time believing they could be that heartless.

Unless …

He stood up, and slowly swaggered his way back over to her. He peered at her through the gloom, a sardonic smirk playing at the edges of his eyes. He wanted her to see how amused he was at what he assumed was her fate. He crouched down in front of her, leering into her face.

"Someone saw you kiss me, didn't he, missy?" he murmured with a viper's stare. "He saw how much you enjoyed it, how much you savored a little taste of Jack, eh? He thought that he might as well renounce you and your little pirate fantasies, because you finally got what you wanted … eh, Lizzie?" At this point he was gazing into her dark eyes, glancing every now and then pointedly at her lips. He heard her breath quicken. "He was so appalled by your little attempt at a last minute tryst that he literally threw you overboard?" At this point, she was leaning way back, pulling away from him, yet fighting to not show … was it fear?

"It was nothing like that you scabrous, pox-ridden, foul-smelling, egotistical lout," she shrieked at him as she pushed him away from her. As he was barely balancing on the balls of his feet as he loomed over her, he fell backwards, sprawling into the sand, sending it up into a small dust cloud. His laugh rang out, his glee apparent. She stood and kicked some more sand on him. He held out his hands, waving away the sand, but the whiter teeth in his grin glared through the night.

"The virgin sacrifice!" he chortled wickedly wrinkling up his nose in a cross between a smile and a sneer. "How fitting is that!" He wrapped his coat around him and lay back on the sand staring up at the starless sky. He continued to snicker as he worked out his aggressions imagining the sight on her face when they decided to eject her from the boat. He could almost see the panic and outrage written on her face as she was thrown unceremoniously into the jaws of the beastie that had just taken his own life. Much like the outrage he had seen just before she shoved him into the sand. Oh, he was going to enjoy needling her about that!

He found himself slipping off to sleep, and welcomed it, cocking his hat over his face so he couldn't see the disturbing sky. He heard Elizabeth a little ways off, sniffling dejectedly as she made herself comfortable, waiting for daylight. He drifted dreamlessly for a while, a little disconcerted with the motionless soundless beach. Just before he sank into slumber, he heard Elizabeth whisper quietly, "We must get out of here before we go mad." He agreed wholeheartedly, but wondered if going mad had not already begun. He also thought that maybe going mad would be preferable to being all too aware of where they were. Either way, he decided to let it wait till morning.

He felt a little trickle of drool escape his lips and dampen the sand underneath his cheek. The resulting clot decided to adhere itself to his beard and cause another annoying itch on his cheek. He reached up to scratch it, carefully trying to avoid the sore spot that had been plaguing him a good while. He knew what caused that spot, and knew that the other symptoms he had been having were from the same reason. He had already decided that since it had probably been a whore that had given it to him, whores were going to be the only thing he would endeavor to dally with in the future. Not that he'd even wanted to visit one lately, especially within the last couple of years. He hadn't even enticed Ana Maria into his cabin when she was on board serving with the crew of the Pearl, although they had had a fling or two in years gone by. Nice girl that Ana Maria, but a little too tough for his tastes. He'd avoided trying to get into her breeches, for the same reason as he had sought whores for his release. It couldn't have been any other excuse, really.

He rolled over and sat up, wiping his patchy beard vigorously. He straightened and smoothed out the braids dangling from his chin. He felt to see if his beads were still there, and was relieved to find they were. He had thought himself quite clever for assigning the green to the right braid, starboard, and red for the port. No reason for others to forget that he had the sea in his blood, not that his whole garb, swagger, and lingo didn't scream the fact to everyone he met.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, and realized that they felt odd. No morning after scum. For that matter, the sore spot seemed to be nothing but a scar. He checked his hands and clothes, and frowned. He just seemed … clean. Not comfortably, shabbily, filthy. If this was some more Hellish tortures, he wasn't amused. He hadn't realized before how much he enjoyed having little hiccups in life. It proved he was indeed alive.

Just then he realized something was a little off. His head jerked up, and he squinted around, searching. He realized he was, once again, quite alone. And once again, the footprints in the sand headed down the beach, but this time he saw no end to them.

For whatever reason - surely nothing he could have said or done - Elizabeth had left him … again.


	4. Chapter 4

I'm trying to space these chapters out, knowing I have a pile of homework that is steadily growing; however, the more I think about this story, the more I tweak it in my head, the quicker I feel the need to get it written down.

So I guess, tonight, my life can wait.

Chapter 4: Search and Discovery

Jack sighed deeply. He supposed he would need to follow, knowing this was no small island that she could circumnavigate in a matter of a few minutes. Since he knew that she probably couldn't get lost just going forward, and he always had his compass if she happened to diverge from her course into harder, unprintable ground, if there was any, he was in not in any hurry to get started.

He took another glance around, hoping some change would have been visible in the landscape. All he saw were footsteps, two sets coming up behind him, the smaller set, heading away, and a number of roughed up patches in the sand where they had spent the night. As he glanced away, he caught sight of a glint of light from Elizabeth's sleeping spot. His dark eyes widened and the gold in his smile shone as he seized his prize. The rum bottle. Bless her for dropping it, he thought. Curse her for making him wait, he mused as his face immediately pouted. But bless her for leaving it for him, he chortled as his grin returned. Maybe Hell wouldn't be too awful after all.

"I have my bottle of rum, I have my bottle of rum," he chanted, doing a happy dance. Then he stopped. Although he knew no-one was around, he decided it would not hurt to act like it didn't really matter that he had his rum. He checked around one last time, just in case, and decided he better go find Elizabeth.

He took a healthy swig from his bottle, then reluctantly corked it and put it in his sash. He was going to hate rationing it. In fact, he already did, considering it wasn't working on him in the small doses he had had. He almost, almost, felt it unbearably unnecessary to even have it with him. But of course, that was utter nonsense.

He followed the beach for what seemed an interminable amount of time, alone with his thoughts and musings. He had had quite an adventurous life, keeping in mind that he had brought a lot of those "adventures" upon himself. Just since he met Elizabeth he had been in jail no less than twice and the brig of the Black Pearl once. He had killed a just recently uncursed pirate and freed his beloved Pearl, which had then been absconded by his own crew. Fortunately for them, they had returned and begged him to take it back after he had escaped the gallows. He had also sought, procured, and used a key to open a buried chest, dug up by an ex-naval officer under his command. The chest held the still beating heart of the most cursed pirate to sail the seas.

As these thoughts came to mind, his grin faltered, for it all seemed to go awry after that. After a hard-fought battle with the same ex-naval officer and the fiancé of the most curiously intolerable skirt that had ever graced the decks of the Pearl … not that she wore skirts that much lately … he won the heart, briefly. He'd ironically had lost it to the idiot officer, who he had gone after in the midst of a battle with a huge sea monster ….

His thoughts stopped there. For suddenly, he realized that the footprints had wandered off into the water. He blinked. They … just … went into the water. He followed them, but they had already smoothed away under the water. Considering that there was no movement in the sea, he didn't know how that was possible. But then again, it was Hell … whoever was in charge here could do what he/she/it wanted. His eyes scanned the surface of the water, looking for any drowning governor's daughters, but there wasn't even a ripple. And he certainly wasn't going to search the entire ocean for her… even if he couldn't die. Although it would be something to pass the time. On the other hand, if he couldn't die, neither should she be able to.

He shook off his thoughts. No time for that when there was a woman out there that was in need of rescuing… maybe. For the first time in his life, Jack was stumped. She couldn't die by drowning, yet she was not visible in the water, so she wasn't above the water. That meant she was underwater…

Bugger it. He was not going to keep blathering about this. He wanted to move on, so he plopped down into the sand. Once again he hauled off his boots and stockings, and waded into the water. He continued down the beach in the same direction, hoping to find prints as he went along, prints that hadn't washed away yet. Every now and then, he glanced up into the ocean looking for any thrashing bodies.

His attention remained so focused on the sand beneath the water that he almost stumbled over the longboat. He drew back in astonishment, and glanced wildly about, looking for the owner of said longboat. No-one seemed to be roaming about the isolated beach, so he scanned the ocean once again. What he saw there both alarmed and delighted him at the same time. He saw the hulking shape of a black galleon with black sails. She looked a little worse for wear, but she was definitely floating. He smiled widely and looked back at the longboat. It seemed to invite him aboard, and he accepted the invitation. He pushed it into the water, and began rowing towards his Pearl.

As he approached, he glanced over his shoulder to check for damage to his vessel. He saw the scars left by the Kraken, and cracks in the wood, but he supposed that if his body was left relatively unscathed by the teeth marks and digestion of the beastie, his ship was just as likely to be seaworthy. Passing the bow of the ship, he did notice the figurehead. One wing looked a bit bent, and the body seemed torn away from the ship, hanging by a sliver, although he knew it was probably more anchored than it looked. Happy to see his beauty, he saluted her with a jaunty wave and rowed onward. For some reason, it looked as if a wing fluttered on the bird in her hand, but he then noticed a piece of sail had come loose and fallen, draped delicately on the outstretched hand.

He felt the bow of the longboat bump the side of the ship and he looked up, wondering how he was going to board. He imagined the ladder was still hanging off the side of the ship, so he rowed around the stern. He glanced up as he did so, looking towards the windows of his cabin and winced at the holes he saw there. His beautiful ship was going to need work, although he had no idea where he was going to get wood to repair her.

He found the ladder and clambered up it. As he hoisted himself over the gunwale, his face fell at the mess aboard. Although he had been cleaned up and healed, his ship must have not met the necessary criteria to get the same treatment. He frowned, saddened by the destruction to his beloved. As he wandered through the cabin, he picked up bits and pieces, and stowed those things that had been loosened by the cannon fire and the Kraken's thrashings. He reached his bunk and sat on the edge, woefully surveying the new windows in his cabin, and wondering if it would be worth his while to even get started. He pulled out his rum, and took a long drag. It was going to be a lot of work, especially alone.

Just at that moment, he heard from the head of the ship a dragging sound, like someone was trying to gather one of the fallen sails. He bolted out of his cabin, rushing toward the sound, and stopped short at what he saw. Elizabeth stood before him, back in her breeches and a man's shirt, trying to pull the canvas around to a comfortable position … appearing, for all intents and purposes, to prepare herself to mend the sail.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N Although I've had a few reviews on this tale, I've had only one criticism, so far. Someone complained I make my sentences too long, and they suggested I try shortening them. As this story is written primarily from Jack's point of view, I felt that my style suited him. I apologize to anyone else who is unable to tolerate my style, but I don't intend to change it, at least not for this story. I would think it would be a bit of a jolt to suddenly change the tone in the middle.

Chapter 5:

Jack, startled to see Elizabeth again on his ship, approached her cautiously. "You might want to drop that sail there, missy, and invite yourself over to the longboat for a trip back to the shore," he said bitterly. "Or better yet, let me help you over the side and you can walk back, as it is unlikely you will drown here. After all, there is no beastie to take care of you, unless you managed to kill it by causing it fatal indigestion." His brow furrowed as he watched her turn to him, eyes sparking in a suppressed fury.

"Jack," she started, then quickly corrected herself, albeit sarcastically, "_Captain _Sparrow, you cannot possibly be envisioning yourself actually sailing this ship all on your _onesies_, can you?" Her chin came up in a challenge as she glared at him, content that she had gotten her point across.

"Where do you suppose we will go, _dearest¸_ as we do not exactly have bearings out of _Hell_?" He stepped back and raised his eyebrows in a smirk, knowing he had scored a point with her in their verbal fencing match. Elizabeth's jaw dropped in disgust. He started grinning in victory, when she suddenly dropped the sail and marched over to him, stepping close enough for him to feel her breath on his neck.

"_Dearest _Captain," she answered mockingly, "You apparently have lost your memory along with all sense you may never have had in the first place." He felt her reach around his middle, and he drew back in shock. This did not seem the time nor place for her to suddenly get fresh with him. After all, death nor danger was imminent, nor was the topic precisely turning to such things. He supposed he could take advantage of it if she was really that interested, but he did not think that was the case.

Reading the expressions across his face correctly, she smirked in response. She shook her head in disgust, then held up the item she had removed from his belt. "Obviously you have forgotten about this," she snapped as she slapped it into his hand. His eyes widened as he grit his teeth in an embarrassed simper, as he opened the compass. He glanced at her briefly as he stepped away, holding the instrument so she could not see the reading, in case it was still not working properly. He shook it a little, and waited for the needle to settle. It hesitantly pointed out over the water, then began its erratic swing, pointing towards the woman next to him, then away. He rolled his eyes in disgust, annoyed that even though the woman had actually ensured his death, and still was being a constant aggravation in his afterlife, he wanted her. One of these days he was going to have to deal with that, even if it was just to scratch that itch as it were.

He turned to her with a smarmy sneer and pointed in the direction the needle had originally. "That _may _be the direction to go if we had a little _wind _to get us there. After all, even with two of us on board, I very much doubt that we could manage the sweeps to get it moving. So, my dear Lizzie, unless I help you overboard so you can walk that direction, you are trapped here with me." He cocked an eyebrow, intending to get his meaning across.

Her face fell, as if the idea had not quite occurred to her. She looked at Jack disappointedly and wandered over to the rail and stared at the becalmed water. She actually appeared to be contemplating walking. She turned and gestured towards the longboat. Recognizing where she was going to go with that, he started shaking his head furiously, throwing his hands up as he stalked back off to his cabin. "I am not going to row myself out of Hell, either. You are more than welcome to, darlin', but I shall not be joining you." He reached the shattered remains of his door and shot over his shoulder, "I will be staying right here with me Pearl, thank you very much. We have been through too much together for me to desert her now."

Just at that moment, he felt a draft through the walls of his cabin. He paused, startled. He peered out through the hole from which felt the gust, but saw nothing. He hurried back out onto the deck, checking the skies for any sign of an oncoming storm, but the overcast sky did not look threatening, at least no more so than before. Glancing up into the riggings, he noticed the sails flapping beckoningly, urging him to hurry and finish mending them so they could fill themselves with the breeze. He gazed at Elizabeth and watched her face light up in one of her disarmingly joyous smiles, before she turned and grinned at him.

"Your wish is my command, Captain," she replied saucily, taking credit for the weather phenomenon. Her eyes danced as she made her way back to the sail she had dropped. "Now, are you going to help me, or are you going to continue to rue your fate? We really do have a lot of work to do before we set sail," she added needlessly.

Jack kept his gaze on her as she continued her repairs. He felt his hand wander near the bottle of rum, and allowed himself to pull it out of his sash. He tipped it up, draining half of its contents, hoping that it would calm his nerves. He felt something, somewhere, was not right, which was utterly preposterous. After all, what could be more wrong than finding the things that he loved in Hell?

Three days passed since reboarding his ship. He had done his best just to work on the sails and get them back up on the riggings without spending too much time conversing with Elizabeth. He did watch her surreptitiously, though, as she clambered up and down the ratlines, hoisting the sails into position. He marveled at the strength she displayed in her arms and legs, especially when she allowed them to be exposed to the elements, such as they were. He noted there was no sun to give her the tan that he was used to seeing develop on his crewmates, but the muscles were beginning to show more definition in her calves and forearms. He usually did not care for overdeveloped women, thinking that they should stay soft and cushiony, but her thin figure was becoming more enticing as they worked together to get the Pearl back to sailing condition.

The hold had some of the required materials needed to repair and maintain the sails, but there was little excess wood to fix the damages to the hull and no glass to speak of to place into his broken windows. Despite the wind that would perk up frequently, there was no weather to cause problems. The heat stayed moderate, which was a little perplexing, since he had thought Hell would either be extremely hot, or dreadfully cold, depending upon which vicar he had questioned as he had grown up.

The third day, by chance, Jack stumbled across a barrel of liquid in a storeroom near the crew's sleeping quarters. He excitedly pried the end open, and gleefully took in a whiff. He had found one that his crew had missed in its hurry to find something explosive to fight off the Kraken. He rushed up to his cabin to retrieve a couple of bottles to fill, sidling past the door to the first mate's bunk where Elizabeth had taken up residence. As he hurriedly gathered the bottles together they clinked, earning him an exasperated snort from his one and only crewmate. He winced as she strode through the doorway, glancing around his cabin till she spotted him. He tried hiding them behind his back, but of course, she saw straight through his guile.

"What are you doing now, Jack?" she spoke, warily. She approached him holding her hands out, waiting. He pouted, then deliberately held them away from her as he sashayed past her.

"I am intending to get blisteringly, blindingly, slobberingly smashed." He continued belowdecks with her following on his heels, noting, once again, her exasperation at his pirate like behavior. It never ceased to amaze him that she, among others, would ever expect him to act differently.

"Jack, we are so close to being able to sail out of here, we could probably get started tomorrow. Do you really want to end up sleeping the day away nursing a hangover?" she pleaded. He stopped suddenly on the steps, and peered up at her through the deepening gloom of what passed for night.

"If you recall, dearie, we have the rest of eternity to sail blithely out of here, but as I have just found this keg, I intend to make a rather large hole in the liquid therein. You may join me if you wish, but knowing your rather prudish tendencies, I do not expect you will. However, if you wish to continue your behavioral slide to hedonism that you so adequately displayed on the beach a few days ago, you would be more than welcome." Once again, he cocked his eyebrow, smiling devilishly into her eyes. "After all, luv, when in Hell …" She glared at him and snatched a bottle away from him.

Later that night, they sat on the foredeck above the galley, pretending to see constellations in the sky, imagining where they would be depending on what part of the ocean they were sailing in their minds. The rum turned out to be quite potent, especially as they had had no food in the past few days, neither needing nor desiring it. Elizabeth giggled at yet another snide remark falling out of Jack's lips as he commented about the oddity of their situation, murderer and victim alike sharing a ship and a barrel of rum in the most unlikely of places.

After a little while, Elizabeth grew quiet as her face grew pensive. She lay back on the deck, and he watched as she held her bottle close to her body, as if she was hugging a well loved toy for comfort. He could not forgive himself for passing up an opportune moment and cozied himself up along side her, gazing at her as he took another sip. He hoped she would just see it as an attempt to ingratiate himself with her and show he forgave her for her indiscretions rather than as an attempt to seduce her. Thanks to the overdose of rum, he did not expect to be able to perform if she suddenly decided that she was willing to forgo her wedding night to be with him. He certainly would give it a try, naturally, but …

"Jack," she whispered, breaking through his thoughts. "Do you suppose we will be able to get out of here?" He blinked. After all the determination and drive she had displayed the last couple of days, he was surprised at her sudden turn towards vulnerability. He drained the last few drops out of his bottle, glancing askance at hers to see if she had any left. He knew he probably would not be able to make it back down into the hold to retrieve more rum. Seeing that she still had half a bottle, he decided to merely keep talking, hoping to soothe her into sleep soon, so he could finish hers also.

"Luv, I am certain that if there is a God who is hearing your prayers, we will be out of here soon enough. There can be no way that He could ignore your angelic pleas." He felt quite proud of that little line. Maybe she would take the bait, comfort herself with it and drift off soon.

"I haven't been praying, Jack," she answered, a glare forming on her face. "Who would hear me?"

He peered at her quietly for a few minutes, then said, even quietly surprising himself, "Every time you urge me to move, every time to eagerly climb into the riggings hoisting another sail, every time you splice yet another line together, it is a prayer, a plea. God knows you want out of here, and that you by rights do not belong here, especially to accompany a scallywag like me who deserves to be here." He watched as those words sank into her, watched as the lines on her face softened with his observation. He smiled to himself, eyes slowly closing, as he watched her taking comfort in another one of his lies. He knew that one day he would actually pay for those lies, but right now, he drifted off to sleep knowing that for the moment, she was not worried.

"I suppose you're right," he heard her sigh, as he let unconsciousness take over.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N Sorry it's taking so long to write this story. I keep coming up with great ideas for future chapters, writing them down, then promptly losing my notes. They do say that creative minds are rarely tidy, and I certainly fit that mold. I've been trying to catch up with my schoolwork, and managed to get a couple of important things done on time last weekend, even if it was only by 3 minutes to spare. This weekend my muse is screaming at me, and guilt is piling up knowing that there are some people hitting my story once in a while to see if I've updated. So … although I'm not as fully prepared as I really should be, both in schoolwork and for this story, I'm going to give it a shot. If you don't like the chapter let me know, and I will try to rewrite it.

Chapter 6: Sailing Away

He felt her shift, and his arms tightened around her, embracing her middle comfortably. With the motion he felt her stiffen, and he smiled into her hair, nuzzling it as he slowly awoke.

"No worries, love," he murmured. Then his eyes popped open. With a scramble he pushed her away, and sat up staring at her wildly as he cast around for his hat and bottle. He noted the alarm on her face, as he pulled himself to his feet, standing unsteadily as a wave of nausea hit him. She looked as perturbed as he felt, as she, too, stood, gripping her vest tightly around her, even though there was no sign that anyone had tried to remove it during the night. Her alarm turned to irritation, and she glared at him before picking up her own bottle and stalking away.

He glowered at her retreating back in return. How dare she act as if he had not been the most gentlemanly of … well … gentlemen. "Next time I _will_ bed you since you are so ready to convict me of making the attempt in the first place," he snarled.

"There will be no next time, Jack," she snapped back, pausing to turn and sneer at him.

"That's where you are wrong, missy," he countered, approaching her. "You have twice now spent an evening carousing with me. Once may have been considered forgivable by your society, but twice is the beginning of a habit, dearie. You love spending time with me, and despite all your declarations, you have acquired a taste of this 'vile drink' as you have so aptly put it. And it is not likely you are going anywhere but with me since there really is nowhere but with me to go, so how do you suppose we are going to get anywhere but without me?" Even he looked a little confused with that speech, but he shrugged it off, waiting for an answer.

"First of all, you nonsensical piece of walking filth, it can hardly be called carousing since all we were doing was drinking and looking at the empty sky," she began, and he raised a finger to interject, but she raised her voice to drown him out. "Secondly, I seem to be the only one with any designs on getting out of here since you seem resigned to spend eternity wondering how to spend eternity. I, for one, want to leave, today, right now, so if you are quite done being stupid, I would suggest you take your damned opportune moment when it presents itself instead of trying to make_ me _into what you already are." With that, she spun on her heel and headed to the poopdeck to make ready to sail.

Jack stood feeling a little stunned. For some reason he could not think of something to spout back at her. He blamed it on the nausea, then remembered that he did indeed feel sick. It had not really been that long since he had pulled a good drunk, but then again, he had never pulled one while dead and on an empty stomach. And it did not help when the only woman in his afterlife made no sense. Then again, when did women make sense, except when they were making an effort to be on friendly terms with him.

He dragged a hand down his face and yawned, trying to shake off the heaviness that had started to weigh on him. Even though her enthusiasm for leaving had infected him enough to help her repair the ship, he really did not think that they were going to get far. He had to tamp down his habitual planning for stocking the ship as there were no supplies nor need to stock it, and it left him feeling a little disconcerted, along with everything else that had. He couldn't even plan on where to go using his charts, because there were no charts for Hell. He actually felt a little disgusted that he had had to rely on Elizabeth's idea on using his compass, since she was not an experienced sailor such as he. Why was it that when she was around he suddenly felt like an idiot? She had managed to one-up him on a regular basis since he met her, and the feeling was not one he cared to have.

He wandered down to the main deck, scanning the masts and the limp, unfurled sails, wondering if one of those chance bursts of wind was going to make an appearance. He heard footsteps behind him, and he turned to see Elizabeth approaching him with two buckets of water and a couple large rags slung over her shoulder. He suspected what she wanted him to do, and he winced when she handed a bucket to him.

"I know you usually get some of your crew to do this, but since it's just the two of us, it looks as if we are the ones who have to volunteer. At least until the wind picks up," she said, as she placed her rag into her bucket and started working on swabbing the deck. He rolled his eyes and sent a silent prayer up for the eagerly awaited wind. He wondered what the point was in keeping the wood wet and sealed when it was obvious there was no salt to dry it out, nor was the ship in any danger of sinking at the moment. He decided he really did not want to be around Elizabeth, so he took his bucket to the other end of the deck and started working the water into the wood.

After working for a while he felt a slight tickle on his cheek, and he glanced up to the sails hopefully. They fluttered slightly, and he ran to adjust them, calling Elizabeth to help him. As they worked quickly to loosen and tighten the lines to angle the canvas to catch the wind, he noticed it seemed to be coming from the shore. He glanced landward and hesitated. The gusts were actually picking up the sand, increasingly growing more frenzied. He knew that it had to be quite a storm brewing there, if he could actually see the dust devils forming and dispersing. As they grew more turbulent, the sand began to reach out into the water, coating it with a thin scum before the waves began to disperse the grains. The gusts began to turn into gales, and then into heavy breezes, filling the sails, causing them to billow outward.

The ship began to rock gently with the waves, gliding through them as the wind pushed them away from the shore. Without warning, the breeze whipped into a tempest, circulating on itself, acting as if it wanted to drive the ship backwards towards the land. The sails flapped and snapped with the conflicting torrents, alarming Jack, making him fear for the masts' stability. He glanced towards the shore again, noting the sandstorm picking up speed and ferocity. The quickening tempest pushed the ship, steadily increasing the speed as the two sailors coaxed the Pearl into a headlong race away from the beach.

Jack's stomach, no less queasy than before, threatened to disgorge itself as he worked feverishly to combat the storm. It felt for all the world like Hell did not want to let him nor his ship to leave its bountiful shores. He continued to look back towards the beach as the ship tossed and bounced on the waves, fighting like a whale in a strong current to reach deeper waters. When he chanced yet another look back, he observed with eyes widening in shock as the sand appeared to form an angry screaming face, complete with an ancient Captain's hat and squirming tentacles for a beard.

"NOOOOOOOO, I'LL HAVE YOU YET, SPARROW," came a strange accent issuing from the lipless orifice. Suddenly, another voice cut through the wind, in a singsong chant as the breeze filling the sails threatened to rip them to shreds, pushing the ship away from the influence of the storm that tried to leave them stranded. He felt the Pearl surge forward, as if gaily breaking the grip of the Locker.

He knew he was not free yet. He knew they had a long voyage ahead of them, but with compass in hand, he pointed out the desired direction to Elizabeth before gripping the wheel and aiming his ship toward that horizon.


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Again, sorry for the delay in updates. Quite a bit has happened in my life recently that has prevented me from getting back to my story. I have a lot of ideas for future chapters still running around upstairs, so don't fear. There will be plenty of story to look forward to. Just bear with me, 'K?

Chapter 7: Hunger Pains

Jack caressed the wheel of his ship lovingly as he gazed across the horizon, scanning for any change in either sky or sea. They had lost sight of the sandstorm some time earlier. Without one of the new fangled chronometers or even the old fashioned way of following the sun's movements, there was no way to measure how long they had been moving. The only hourglass on board had been broken in the attack. The breeze had not ceased blowing steadily, for which he was grateful, but he imagined it would not be long before whatever force was helping them would tire. He had recognized the voice chanting, with its unusual mysterious undertones. He almost felt the need to call out in a type of prayer of thanks for her help, but he was not sure if she could hear him.

He glanced out across the deck looking for Elizabeth. He had lost track of her as his thoughts had wandered. He caught sight of her, sitting up in the ratlines, having woven herself among the rigging as she faced into the wind. He watched in wonder as she swayed with the motion of the ship, eyes closed, savoring the movement of the air. She was at one with the sea, air, ship, and all the rest sailing entailed, and he grew envious. He wanted to enjoy the ride, too.

He knew he shouldn't leave the wheel untended in these uncharted waters, but as of yet, they had not had any problems. He had just decided to tie the wheel into place, when the wind suddenly dropped. Even though there were still gusts teasing Jack's braids, there was not enough breeze to fill the sails.

A wail of disappointment issued from aloft as Elizabeth realized their ride was over, at least for the time being. She descended from the rigging with a pout. She glanced around at Jack while he finished tying off the wheel. He knew that they could not handle the anchor by themselves, so he did his best to guarantee they would not change course if the wind should return.

When he was done, he noticed that Elizabeth was headed into the galley. Oddly enough he realized that he was a bit peckish. The earlier nausea had subsided, so he followed her. Hopefully there was some hardtack or a bit of salt pork to stave the gnawing pains in his empty belly. He wondered if the night before had awakened that particular urge and he suddenly hoped that it had not been a mistake. It would not bode well if they had to sail for days without food or fresh water. He had banked on their being dead to prevent that need from arising. Perhaps being away from the Locker had changed things. He shook his head and decided that perhaps he had better consult his compass for a nearby island with some source of food.

He followed his shipmate into the galley and started poking around in the barrels and crates that had been stored in there. He noted there was little wood to stoke the fire for cooked food. He sighed. Perchance a little rum would be more preferable to what he was finding, but he was not willing to listen to dear Lizzie debate its lack of merit. As it was, she was watching him intently, as if she was aware of his thoughts.

"You can relax your watch, luv," he muttered as he found a green apple hidden away in small cupboard, somewhat bruised, but thankfully worm-free. Her eyes took in his prize and winced, as if in recognition. He glanced at his apple suspiciously, and frowned, unclear as to what had caused her concern over the fruit.

Elizabeth swallowed convulsively, and whispered a name. "Barbossa." Jack's eyes widened as her meaning dawned on him. He remembered his first mate's strange predilection for the tart fruit, and he chuckled as he recalled how he had taunted him with the same before the cursed pirate had been able to taste it for himself. He tossed the apple up into the air and caught it deftly as he grinned, stepping from the galley onto the deck. He glanced behind to Elizabeth, inviting her to join him. She followed shortly, clutching a bit of hardtack and an orange she had managed to scavenge from the crates.

"I hope this doesn't mean we will need more food and water later," she said, mirroring his thoughts almost exactly. The lass's quickness certainly surprised him occasionally, but then again, he knew he could not have been so tempted by her if she had been dull-witted. A stupid woman would be an easy lay, but the chase sometimes was the whetstone to a more interesting encounter. For all the verbal battles he had had with Elizabeth through the time they had known each other, he was expecting that he might not survive said encounter … oh, wait. He hadn't. Ironic.

"We will have to find an island, I suppose," he began, pulling out his compass. Elizabeth nodded as he flipped the top back and stared at it, willing the needle to find food. It spun in a circle … then began its erratic dance … pointing at Elizabeth… then out to the sea. He frowned and shook it. There was no change. He sighed and returned it to his belt. "Apparently, I'm not hungry enough to want food," he prevaricated.

"Well, I would wonder what you are hungry enough to want," she retorted. His head jerked in her direction as he divined her meaning, meanwhile feeling a bit vexed that her quickness once again saw through his own. He took her bait.

"Why Lizzie," he murmured in his permanently rum-roughened voice, "I would have thought that would have been clear to you by now." He sidled closer to her, moderately taken aback once again that she would let him so close to her. She stood her ground as he bent to whisper into her ear. "Hunger has so many forms, dearie. Perhaps you have some of your own?" His breath tickled her cheek and he watched it flush from its normal peach to a full blooming red as he continued to taunt her. "First there is the simple hunger for food, one to which we are all very accustomed, that is… when we are alive. Then there is the hunger for knowledge, wanting to know all that there is to know in the world around us. Then there is the hunger for money, riches, wealth beyond measure. This is a hunger that is shared by more than just pirates. We have our dear friend Beckett to serve as an example for such hunger." He circled around Elizabeth as he continued his speech, judging her reaction to gauge the appropriate timing for his final blow. "There is the hunger for children, not a hunger I share in, but a hunger often felt by women of your age." He hoped that stung a little, a mere scratch for a reminder that she could probably never have any in this particular circumstance. He noted her breath was quickening with his nearness and tone. He didn't think that she would be paying much attention to what he was saying anymore if he didn't make his point quickly.

"Last of all, Lizzie, but certainly not the least, there is the hunger for companionship. The kind of companionship between a man and woman, two kindred spirits, who want to share everything together," he whispered, breathing the words into her hair as he stood behind her. His right hand began to play with her tresses as he murmured his words into her ear, his other hand turning her chin to meet his gaze. She turned willingly, her eyes glazed with longing. Her lips were parted invitingly and he leaned in to taste them, smiling at his conquest.

"You forgot one Jack," he heard her whisper. He paused, staring into her hazel eyes, waiting for her to continue. "The hunger for love. The one thing that binds two people together, to help them ease all the other hungers. Is that something you can offer Jack?" she asked. He stared unbelievingly into her eager countenance, flicking his gaze from her eyes to her lips, feeling his own ardor cool. He wished his answer could have been more to her liking, if for no more reason than to finally end the chase, to finally appease the monster she awakened in him when her challenges were flung at him. He could not – nay, would not -- be dishonest with her though.

He grunted as he pulled away from her. Her face fell as she realized he was not going to answer her, at least not in the words she wanted to hear. He shook his head as he walked away from her in the deepening dusk, growling and muttering and trying to talk himself down. He would try a different tactic later. Hopefully, she would not bring the L word into it, again. He was just not ready for that yet.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N Here we go again. Maybe this time I will actually get a chapter written tonight. Again I apologize for the slow delivery.

To all those who have sent reviews… my deepest thanks. It helps to know that there is an audience for my little story.

Chapter 8: Changes

He clicked his compass shut and pursed his lips in frustration. It was difficult to concentrate on getting a heading when she ran through his thoughts. Just as he would center his thoughts back on food, the needle would disobey him and point to what he really wanted. After her rather uncharacteristic display of affection the night before, or what appeared as such, his focus on piloting his ship towards a specific destination was shot. His mind had wandered all night, leaving him with little rest. There was no way, at least while his stomach was still not empty enough to complain, that he would be able to get that heading.

He frowned. He could not put his finger on it, but something was troubling about her behavior. It seemed she had either dropped all pretenses of being in love with Will, or she was seeking a way to get back at him for pitching her overboard. Her question of love was startling, to say the least, considering that he himself had not really considered that a real possibility. Her supposed steadfast commitment to her blacksmith surpassed anything that Jack had tried on her, although he had begun to wonder about just how strong that bond was. He had caught the occasional appraising look from Elizabeth on their search for Will that had naturally piqued a desire for her within himself that had already been building for some time. His mind wanted to skitter away from that thought, but the compass was the best indicator he had to tell him what exactly his mind was trying to deny.

He heard a step behind him and wiped all concerns and frowns from his face. He turned to her with a golden grin, trying to exude a confidence he did not exactly feel. She sidled by with a suspicious glance as she wandered over to the rail beside him.

"We need supplies, Jack," she reminded him again. She did not seem convinced of his bravado. He let his smile slide away and pouted, turning back to the wheel. He hated feeling nonplussed around her, but the way she tilted her face up to him, peering up at him under the tricorn sitting on her head made him want to …

"Jack?" she prompted. He continued to pretend to ignore her. "Jack, I know you can hear me." Her voice began to get edgy, sharpening itself into what was promising to be a scathing set down. He decided to waylay her before she started.

"Lizzie, I'm not entirely certain if your eyes are functioning, but if they are you can see I am standing behind the wheel of my ship. As I am captain of this ship, and as I am actually moving the wheel of this ship, and as the ship itself is moving forward, one can only assume that I may actually be steering this ship. Since the steering of said ship requires concentration, one can also assume that the one behind the wheel steering the ship should not be bothered with suggestions on where to steer the ship, especially since the ship is already being steered in the direction of suggested destination. Savvy?"

Out of the corner of his eye he watched as her jaw dropped and her eyes narrowed. "Since when has steering a ship prevented you from having a civil conversation with someone?" she retorted. "I ask a simple question, and just as you always do, you dance around the answer. If you do not know where to get food, why don't you consult your compass?"

Aggravated, Jack turned from his wheel, sighed heavily, and stared hard at her. "And how many times has the compass worked for you, lately? Hmm? As I recall, you threw it on the ground telling me it didn't work? Remember, dearie?" He waited for her to remind him that it had indeed worked in the end, setting up his own reply, but her response never came. Instead, Elizabeth's face closed in on itself, a furrow deepening between her brows, a glazed look creeping into her eyes. He had a funny feeling that she actually did not remember the incident. His own brow creased as disappointment settled into the pit of his stomach. The aborted exchange left him feeling discomfited, as if he did not get enough food when starving to death, and he watched as she turned away from him. Just as he thought she was going to walk away, she turned back suddenly holding her hand out.

"Let me see the compass, Jack," she demanded. He blinked. Bossy little wench. He held up the compass for her to see, then proceeded to drop it back to his side. She grabbed at it with a glare, and unhooked it despite his noises of protest. "We do not have time for this, Jack. I'm hungry, and believe you are too. Now we may not be able to die, but we can certainly suffer, and I do not wish to suffer any more than I am already doing so with your idiocy." She held up the navigational instrument and willed it to stop. "Besides, you allowed it to leave your hands once before to find Will, so why you are having a problem with it now escapes me." She pointed out the direction of the needle, and plopped the compass back into Jack's hand. Then she walked away.

Later in the day, after scrounging a couple of pieces of salt pork from the galley, Jack glanced up at the crow's nest where Elizabeth was keeping watch. He had grown weary of watching the horizon, hoping to find land in these waters. He had begun to suspect that as a part of Hell, he was either not going to see land again, or the land he was going to get to would be nothing more than the beach they had left. It was one thing to know he was not going to see land for a while, quite another when he did not actually know if or when he would see it again. He was a pirate, not an explorer. He wolfed down his meager dinner and wiped his hands on his jacket, glancing about for something to do. He was just about to do something mind-numbing but necessary as swabbing the deck when he heard a shout from above.

"Jack!" He peered up to Elizabeth, and saw she was pointing beyond the bow of the ship. "Land, Jack! Land ho!" she added, excitedly. Jack grabbed his telescope from his belt and climbed up on the bowsprit. He extended the instrument and peered through. The vixen was right. There was the green haze on the horizon that indicated trees. It didn't look like there were many hills to speak of, much less mountains, but he was delighted. Where there were trees there had to be fresh water and more than likely other life forms.

He climbed back down and rushed back to the wheel and untied it. He had not really felt the need to actually keep the rudder still since the wind had never really changed direction the entire time it blew, but he still felt uncomfortable foregoing all his habits. Who knew when things were going to start becoming normal? He was sure at this point that they would, but not when they would. As it was, he felt like the most alive dead man there ever was. Beyond that, they had just spotted an island that wasn't an eternal beach. Maybe they were actually going to escape Hell after all.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N OK … Now that my classes are done till a week into January, I will have time to get a few more chapters written. This story is taking a lot longer to write than I had anticipated, both in time spent writing it and in length. I'm sorry if the tenor of the chapters keeps changing. That's what happens when one is as moody as I am.

Chapter 9: Questions Arise

The sails lay furled, waiting for the next trip out to sea, as the two passengers and sailors splashed ashore with their longboat tugged behind them. Jack dragged it further ashore, and thrust a mooring pin into the sand. He had noticed a gentle surf lapping the shores of the small beach, and did not want any tide to come in and steal his only dry means back to the ship. He was an accomplished swimmer, having decided early in his sailing career that it would be prudent to become so, but that did not mean that he should have to swim if he could do otherwise. Besides, if they were experiencing hunger, he surmised that they could not breathe underwater and survive, or at least be comfortable. There was no telling if they were really dead or not at this point.

Jack scanned the horizon, once again falling back on old habits, checking to see if any sails broke the line between the sea and sky. Even the speck of a topsail indicating a ship just over the horizon failed to greet his eyes, so he turned inland and took in the vision of the lush green trees. He noted a streamlet emptying into the sea, and he stumbled over to it, having not gotten his land legs back yet. At least that is what he told himself. He refused to acknowledge that the little jar of rum he kept securely knotted into his sash could have anything to do with it.

He uncorked his canteen and dipped it into the water. As it filled, glugging and bubbling as the air escaped, he surveyed the forest around him, listening intently for any signs of animal life. He had heard birds, but nothing more than the twittering inland birds, none of the seagull, pelican, or albatross types. There was nothing to give him any indication of where he was. Even the plants looked unfamiliar, not that he would be well versed in inland flora.

The canteen glubbed for the last time, and he put in the stopper. He stood and glanced at his partner. He had assumed that she would have been exploring a little, or even filling her own canteen, but when he turned, he was met with the sight of a rather shaken Elizabeth. At least, she appeared that way. Her face, even darkened by the tropical sun prior to their deaths, was quite pale. Her eyes were wide, with a little pant escaping her opened lips. Just as he took in this strange behavior, Elizabeth noticed his attention. With a last quick look around her, she shook her composure together, and with a determined squaring of her shoulders, sauntered over to the stream. As she bent to fill her canteen, she peeked back up to him, and caught him still watching her. He waited, and soon his silent but steady gaze made her cave.

"All right, then," she sighed. "I've been here. I don't know when, but I'm sure I recognize this place."

"And you are such a well traveled woman, despite the fact that you were locked up in your little mansion, playing with your china dolls," he sneered, although his stare still marked him as wary. "Have you forgotten just where we came from? We're not exactly on any chart that I have in my cabin. I do not believe we are on _any _charts in…"

"I know that, you idiot!" she snapped, falling back on her own old habit of disdaining him. At least she was not acting odd anymore, he thought. "Do you really think I'm that stupid and unaware? _Don't _answer that," she added as he opened his mouth to reply.

She took another deep breath, calming herself as she stopped to look around herself once again. "It's like a dream, or a remnant of a dream. It looks familiar, yet … wrong. Almost as if it's … old. Neglected." Her brow furrowed as her voice trailed off. She chanced another quick look at Jack again, then walked away into the woods, following some call or vague memory.

Jack, a little taken aback at her news, peered around at his surroundings, then thought better about letting her wander off alone. She may have been on the island before, but there was no reason to have her chance upon some beast that might eat her. He did not really want that weighing on his conscience, not that her own stupidity should be enough to make _him_ feel guilty, but following her to keep such beasts at bay would probably be a good idea. So he did. Closely. That way nothing would take them _both_ on.

The path she took was not clearly marked, as if by animals, much less other humans. There was no definite road, nor sign of any kind that anything but birds and small rodent like creatures lived there. She walked forward warily, Jack following with an eye out to the rear. Soon the woods thinned to a clearing, a tiny one, with a small pillar of stones in the middle, a pillar that had the bearing of a small marker or memorial. It certainly was not natural. The trees around the edges had the look of being cut back, pruned to keep the forest at bay from encroaching on this clearing. Although he looked for some markings on the pillar, he found none.

"I don't recognize this," whispered Elizabeth. "This was not here before." Jack looked at her exasperatedly.

"Luv, in case you had missed it when I spoke to you last, I am not living under the impression that you could possibly have _been_ here before," he replied. Her lack of response to his goading spoke to him in volumes louder than any shouted retort. His own feeling of uneasiness grew, but at that moment, so did the growling in his stomach.

"Look," he urged. "We really need to find some edibles and fill a couple of casks before we leave. I really do not think it would be wise to stay overnight here. Do you?"

"Jack," she said, ignoring his implied plea. "We need to look around."

"Yes, for food, I said that," he agreed. "But then …"

"No, not just for food. For answers."

"Miss Swann, unlike you I have no more questions."

"Jack…"

"_Captain_ Jack…"

"Oh, for God's _sake_, not _now_ with that …"

"Well, you do have a tendency to forget …"

"It's not a matter of forgetting …"

Suddenly, their argument ceased. Both had caught sight out of the corner of their eyes a figure, which seemed to have coalesced out of the greenery surrounding them. They both stared, slack jawed, at the form of a woman clothed in nothing but the leaves and vines of the forest. She held in her hands the crook of a shepherd's staff, but her stance was one of a warrior at a cautious rest. Her long hair was bound into a knot at the nape of her neck. She glared at the both of them with hostility.

"Apparently, you have awakened my sister from her sleep," a slow, deep yet feminine voice said behind them. The pair whipped around to see another who was dressed like the first. "I saw your ship before you came ashore. Who are you and why are you here?"


	10. Chapter 10

A/N And the story keeps pouring out. Although this island scene was only supposed to be in one chapter, my muse decided to set me straight once again. These dialogues keep getting my characters into trouble.

Chapter 10: Immortals

Elizabeth held a fistful out for the bull to eat, and giggled when its lips nibbled at her fingers. It gently lifted the blades of grass from her hand, while she tentatively reached up to scratch between its horns. Jack watched the interplay from behind, warily keeping an eye open lest the bull took it into its head to make off with her digits. Although he had only some vague recollection of his early years, he was reasonably sure farm life was not included in them, so his knowledge thereof was minimal at best. He did not really know what he would do if Elizabeth was harmed while feeding the beast, but he was certain he would be able to protect his only sailing companion.

"You are certain they won't devour her," he murmured to the shepherdess who was standing next to him. He was not positive which one she was. It was rather difficult to see either of them due to the glaring way the sunlight hit them once they allowed the camouflage of the forest to melt away. He thought it might have been the one called Phaet, but then again, it could have been Lamp. Odd names those, but it was easier to remember them when they sounded like English words, than the foreign sounding syllables they had offered in introduction. He'd been to foreign shores many times during his illustrious career as a merchant seaman, but it was rare when he felt the need to memorize names. Yet these, for some reason sounded somewhat familiar.

"Quite certain," responded Phaet with a smile. He then knew who it was for certain. Lamp had a bit of a … well … temper. She had seemed a mite tetchy when she had been awakened by their squabbling. Apparently hers was the night shift, so their standing right outside her little sleeping grove had been slightly disturbing to her rest. Upon hearing their story and determining they were not there to disturb their charges, she had left the pair in the capable hands of her sister. With night falling, he expected her reappearance soon.

The sisters had taken an instant liking to Elizabeth, apparently relating to her on a level they had yet to achieve with him. It took them a while to even lower their defenses enough around him to allow them further access to the island, even after explaining their predicament. Even now, Phaet watched him with friendly eyes, but never missed anything. She shadowed his every move, particularly when around the cattle.

There were quite a few herds of cattle on the island, with the shepherdesses continually rotating throughout the day, counting each head of each herd. There were flocks of sheep, too, although the watch over them was not as rigid as that of the cattle. They were loved, but apparently, not quite so loved as the ugly horned brutes.

Another peal of laughter escaped Elizabeth, and Jack turned from his musings to see that the bull had pinned his companion against a tree, butting her, apparently looking for some more of the delectable grass. She had been so accommodating, that it had decided that it was less trouble getting its food from her than to bend its great head down and pluck it for itself. Phaet pursued the overly friendly animal, lightly thwacking it on the flank with her staff to drive it away from their guest. After encouraging the brute to rejoin the herd, she returned to the couple to invite them to dinner.

"The fare is simple but quite palatable," she offered apologetically. "We eat no meat, but there are plenty of fruits, vegetables and grains to satisfy. In fact, we have plenty to supply you on your trip."

"That's quite all right," answered Elizabeth. "I don't eat meat either. There is just something so wrong with eating something that used to run and play."

Jack drew back disconcerted. She seemed to have dismissed the idea out of hand that he himself still liked a little meat every now and again, and had hoped to take a sheep or young cow with them for mutton, beef, or even a bit of fresh milk. There were plenty of pens on board for a short cruise, and if the trip proved to be a bit longer, some of the wood here could be built up into a fire in the galley to jerk the meat if needed. For that matter, with a little time they could do that right there on the island in little fire pits on the beach.

That idea was put to rest immediately upon thinking it, though. As if in response to his thoughts, the shepherdess rounded on him and in no uncertain terms let him know that the cattle and sheep were to be left on the island untouched.

"They are our charges," she announced stoutly. "Our father left us to care for them as long as they live, and we intend to fulfill our duty." Her eyes flashed with a fire that stung Jack's own eyes. Her hair whipped up, flaring hotly around her head, sending off an almost tangible heat in her fury. At this point, he realized this sister could be just as intimidating as the other, so he backed away, hoping to get away from the little solar explosion.

Elizabeth glared at Jack, wondering what he had done or said to make their hostess react in such a manner, and Jack did not feel it necessary to enlighten her, although he was not entirely certain himself what cause the eruption. "Right then, veggies it is." Far be it from him to anger her further.

"I will not have guests take advantage of Thrinacrian hospitality again," she declared, calming as she saw Jack decide to adhere to her wishes. "The island may be somewhat neglected and unkempt, but the kine will always be guarded with our lives. We failed once. It will not happen again."

With this pronouncement, Jack stumbled. He knew this time it had absolutely nothing to do with rum. The two continued to walk ahead of him while he felt the need to seek a way back off the island. He turned around and headed back the way he had come. He hoped to be well on his way before they discovered him missing.

He had gone a goodly way when he heard it. It was a low, moaning sound, a sound just barely within his hearing range. It was almost a thought, a vibration, rather than a sound. He swallowed convulsively in recognition. It was some of the cattle, somewhere nearby, but it was not the happy grunts and moos that he had heard while Elizabeth was playing with the bull. This was a sound of pain, of eternal sorrow. He knew he should not let it, but as with all things dramatic and possibly gruesome in the viewing thereof, it drew him.

He stepped off the open road into another smaller, more concealed path, almost as if where it led was a secret, a dirty fact hidden from even those who were all too aware of it. He followed the path back into the woods to a small clearing, much like the one where he and Lizzie had met the sisters. Back here, there were a few cattle, but unlike the cattle seen before, these were misshapen. Smaller in girth and hairless, they stood in a tight huddle next to another pillar of stones, just like the first they encountered. Although standing on all fours, the forelegs were shorter than the hind, with the knees of the hind bending the wrong way. Shorter, rounder ears were flat against the head, and what passed for horns grew in no particular pattern. As he approached, a head was raised in his direction and he recognized an intelligence in its eyes that was not present in the cattle he had seen previously. The intelligence was tinged with a madness, a madness that had not been alleviated for at least three thousand years.

"Such is the fate of those who do not heed the warnings given them by their betters," muttered the voice of one of the sisters from behind him. He assumed it was Lamp, coming to check on the ancient sailors that had eaten the flesh of immortal cattle many millennia ago. They had literally become what they had eaten, in an unnatural, horrifying attempt to replace the beloved kine of Helios Hyperion.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N Thanks to all those who have posted reviews again. Bleah to all of those who are putting me on alert and never reviewing. I know I have a bit of a fan base, with no less than 100 hits on the last chapter alone, but with that many hits and only 3 or 4 reviews for it, well… hmmmm. I do realize some of those hits are just checking to see if I've written more, but they wouldn't be checking if they didn't like it. Incidentally, I do sometimes get ideas from reviews.

I also realize that I am starting to sound like some of those review beggars, so I will try to keep it to a minimum… maybe once every 5 or so chapters… Unlike others I won't hold chapters in ransom just 'cause I haven't gotten one, but to tell the truth, it does become disconcerting to write and not get feedback.

Chapter 11: A Mystery

"I had halfway expected to see flanks of beef flopping about the island," he said with a shudder as he placed the book back onto his small shelf. Miraculously, along with the Bible and other interesting books in his library, it had survived the waters of the Caribbean as the Pearl had been dragged down by the Kraken. He had just been showing Elizabeth the passage that had described the ancient story about their hostesses' home.

"Well, what you saw can't have been much better," she sympathized. She watched him as he wandered about his cabin, as she sat at his table fondling his navigational tools, her lower lip clenched loosely between her teeth. If he hadn't been in a somber mood, he might have found it enticing enough to comment on it. Which would have made her glare at him. Which would have made him say something else seductive. Which would have made her toss off some pejorative as she flounced out of the cabin … maybe … Wait. Better not chance it. At least not now … although that lip was looking rather plump and inviting.

Suddenly he realized she was indeed starting to glare at him. She had been sitting there for a moment or two as she waited for him to continue. He cleared his throat and continued.

"It's a bit interesting that we should find ourselves on a mythical Isle, although the actual existence of such Isle precludes the fact that it remains a myth." She nodded, agreeing, but continued to be wary as he paced his cabin. "So, if such a myth is reality and as it is only one of many places discovered by Ulysses during his travels, we can presume we may stumble on further myths that are in fact … reality." He glanced at her after this revelation to see the wariness had turned into what looked like a smirk.

"Have you actually forgotten something Jack?" she queried. His eyes skittered about the cabin as he thought through things he may have forgotten.

"Probably," he offered hesitantly. "Since you mentioned it, you must have something to remind me … of … some nature."

"We have been devoured by a sea monster, Jack. You made a deal with a legendary cursed sea captain to have your ship raised from the bottom of the ocean. You won said ship back from your mutinous first mate who sailed for ten years as a walking corpse. Any one of these things very rarely occurs in a normal person's life, yet they seem to be always occurring to you or the people around you."

He shifted uncomfortably as the truth slammed home to him. He was cursed. He must have been, the day that Beckett had him held down as they were putting the fiery brand to his wrist. He could feel the searing burn again on his arm and smell the tang of cooking meat as it was lifted away. He had refused to give the pipsqueak the satisfaction of seeing his pain, but he caught the laughter playing at the edges of Beckett's eyes as his captors led him back down to the prison to await his hanging. As the guards mounted the stairs after locking him in his cell, Jack laid back down on the moldy straw on the floor, wondering if it would be worth it to gather it together to try to make a small bed. He was beginning to wonder if his refusal to transport slaves from the Gold Coast to their destination in Brazil had been a wise choice.

He had been sickened to find his captain's beloved Wicked Wench refitted with very close racks to stack the "cargo" he had been ordered to deliver. After weeks of watching men, women, and children get pitched over the side after dying from malnutrition and disease, he had used his charm and eloquence to convince his already loyal crew to belay the course to their destination. They anchored in a hidden harbor of a remote island off the heavy shipping lanes, and using the longboats, hauled off the bewildered Africans and set them free. Not too many had survived the trip, as it was, so he did not think that they would be found.

He joined the straggling few on the last boatload onto the island, wondering if they would be able to survive in a land with which they were unfamiliar. As he watched the people gather into little groups on the beach, he had the feeling most did not know each other, although there were some grateful cries of happiness as a couple of family members found each other.

He wished he had a better grasp of their native tongues, as he felt that not all were from the same areas of Africa, but they spoke in a sort of pidgin that they had all begun to learn in mere survival. He made do with the few words he had picked up surreptitiously on the trip over, not really sure who was loyal to the East India Trading Company or who was not. He had thrown caution to the winds though, when he began to realize that all of his officers and most of the crew had been doing the same. He easily avoided a mutiny, by quickly asserting that he, too, did not like what their employers had suddenly commissioned them to do. After a few years of serving together on the Wench, he and his crew made the life changing decision to set the slaves free.

He felt his jaws clench, as he realized he had nowhere to go after this. He wondered if staying with the slaves on the island might be the only option he had, when he heard a soft musical voice speak behind him.

"Captain Jack Sparrow," came the lilted, heavily accented tone and he turned to see who had addressed him. A lovely young mulatto dressed in what had been a beautiful gown when it was new stood assessing his jettisoned cargo as they bustled around her, before she turned to focus her attention on him. Her frowned a little at the name with which she had called him.

"I'm sorry, Miss, but you got the first part right. I'm actually Captain …" He ground to a halt when she placed a long, thin finger on his lips to silence him.

"You are who you are," she murmured.

"Aye, and that would be …" he began again, but once again, he was interrupted.

"… the savior of these people, and soon to be a fugitive yourself." He sighed heavily at the truth of these words, having just thought of them on his own. He smiled and shrugged meekly.

"What can you do?" he asked rhetorically. With this, she leaned back and laughed. It wasn't the delicate and simpering laugh of a woman of breeding, rather it was a great bark of one who was slightly hysterical, and he drew back a little, eyes widening. Apparently, the woman had spent a little too much time alone there on that island. "You do not know what you can do. Not yet." She began to circle him, appraising him, like he was a side of beef. Horrified, he began to feel a pull in his breeches, and his breath quicken. "But there be much that I can do. And much you can do for me, in return."

Suddenly she turned from him and marched over to a longboat, widening her arms in front of her as if shoving aside the crew members waiting there for Jack. She flung over her shoulder a command for Jack to follow her as she climbed into the longboat. In a daze, he did what he was bid and soon they pulled away from the beach, heading back to the Wench.

The straw prickled his cheek as he woke in the cell, night still holding its grip on the perpetually damp island off the coast of Britain. He missed the sun baked isles he had grown to love in his short career in the EITC, even allowing his skin to tan unfashionably for a man of supposed aristocracy. Being the younger son of a drunken fool of a Baron, he had to make do with a career as his inheritance was being frittered away with gambling debts. His older brother was just as bad. His own mother had died while birthing him, so he had never known her. There had been a lot of gossip as to who his father actually was, since he had been born with a much darker coloring than any of his family, but as the mother was no longer around to question, his father had to accept him.

He sighed as he realized that his discomfort was not going to allow for any kind of sleep, so he sat up, brushing off the straw and sneezing from the mustiness of his bed. A torch flickered slightly in its sconce outside his cell, causing him to wonder why they would bother to waste it to light the area when no one of consequence was due to visit any of the prisoners.

He stood and meandered over to the door to look out of the grating towards the warm solitary flame. He imagined shapes and figures within it as he brooded about his fate the following morning, when suddenly he realized the flame had brightened. All at once, the brand on his arm flared with a stunning burst of agony, as if someone had slapped the damaged skin. He hissed and winced, clutching at his arm, trying not to touch the welt, as his head dropped and his eyes watered. This was worse than the actual branding. He raised his head again to look out of the cell, and felt his chest spasm as he met the deep black eyes of the sorceress he met on the island where he had set the slaves free.

"You must go. Fly like the bird what give you its name. No sparrow should ever remain caged." With that, he heard a click near the locking mechanism of the cell door and it swung silently open. He glanced back to where the woman had been standing and saw something fall to the ground with a clatter. The witch was not there, but he bent over to retrieve a crab claw that had been dropped, the only evidence, other than the unlocked door, that she had even been there. He glanced briefly up and down the corridor, listening to see if he heard anything other than the snores and moans of the other prisoners in their cells.

Not one to sneeze in the face of good luck, he bolted, the second time in his life that he had deliberately rebelled against orders. Although it had not been how he had intended to live his life, he realized he was beginning to like the feeling. Trapped in the mediocrity of following commands, first from his father as he grew, and then from the EITC, he had strained to feel as if he was alive. Thanks to one act of kindness on his part, albeit a grandiose not-very-well-planned one, he now was being a chance to taste a freedom that he had previously only imagined. If Beckett was determined to call him a pirate, well, dammit, he would be one.

Alone with his thoughts, Jack slid by all the guards that were either distracted or strangely asleep at their posts as he escaped the prison. He blended into the night as he wended his way down to the docks, seeking a chance to start his new life, feeling as if he now had a special spirit to watch his back.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N I know I'm taking a lot of liberties with the story, but then again, I think the majority of us fanfiction writers are. I just hope that my characters don't keep arguing with me like they did with the last chapter. I do know where I want to go with this story, and if it means that I have to keep dropping in bits of backstory to explain my characters' actions…. I guess that's what I have to do. It was not my intention to put that whole scene in last chapter, but they wanted it that way, so they got it that way.

Tia Dalma's the worst one to write about. She's just so mysterious and I'm not all that up on voodoo and what can or cannot be done with it. I will just add that we can speculate that she isn't solely a voodoo priestess or some such and accept that she's got powers and abilities no one can explain. As for her accent, you are just going to have to imagine it. By the time I make the attempt to write out her dialect, everything she says would have to be decoded, so forget it.

Chapter 12: The Gift

Jack wandered out of the galley crunching down into a red apple, mentally thanking their hostesses for having them available. The thought of green apples had lost all appeal to him considering their connection to his past. It dribbled juicily down his beard and he slurped his fingers, appreciating the flavor. It was nice to fill his belly, even though he had to resort to a vegetarian diet. He had heard of people who chose to eat only fruits and grains, but only in places in the Far East. He wondered how anyone could exist without a little meat or fat in their food. He guessed he would find out soon enough.

He reached the port side of the ship, and stood next to Elizabeth as she leaned on the gunwale staring at the island. They had only just recently finished stocking up the barrels of water and Jack had added a bit of rum and lime to a couple to make grog in case they were away from land too long. Elizabeth had wrinkled up her nose at the onerous necessity, but had kept her tongue still. Some battles were just not worth fighting, especially when there was no point. With life came death, and with death came rot and decay. Foul water would make for a high level of unpleasantness should they suddenly find they could become sick again.

They both watched the trees sway with the light zephyrs skipping along the branches and fluttering the leaves. He wondered when those breezes would start the ship plowing forward again, although he could not help but think that there were a couple of things left undone. He frowned and let out a sigh. As he turned to Elizabeth, however, she spoke up first.

"I need one more trip to the island," she announced.

"Luv, I thought we had said our farewells. It's not as if they were bosom friends," he reminded her. "Though they did have nice b…"

"Jack!" she admonished harshly, her eyes flashing in warning.

"Well, you can't fault a man for noticing," he mumbled, as he turned to ready the longboat for another launch. "After all, it isn't as if there is anything else to ogle on board…" No sooner had the words left his mouth when he felt a hard smack on the back of his head, knocking his hat to the deck. Her turned to look at her, eyes wide, jaw dropped, and saw her standing, braced, waiting for his reaction with her chin up, eyes boring back into his.

"You could not wait for me to turn so you could deliver that blow to my cheek?" he asked her incredulously. His appearance must have been a bit alarming, because despite the defiance on her face, she took a step back. He advanced on her slowly, so she took another. "Would you not say that was a bit cowardly, darlin'?" he growled.

"I knew where your thoughts were heading, so I took measures in advance," she slung at him. She continued her retreat, and suddenly had to stop as the rail hit her on the back. He continued forward.

"Of course they were heading there, sweetie," he sneered. "Not only am I a pirate, but also a man, as you may have noticed, especially when your lips were so firmly planted on mine just moments before you took measures to murder me."

"Oh, we're back to that, are we?" she began, just before he suddenly scooped up her thin frame in his wiry arms. He felt her hands scrabble to clutch onto his shirt as he bent forward to dangle her off the side of the ship. "You wouldn't _dare!_" she shrieked in disbelief, just as he dropped her, doing so quickly enough before she got purchase on his clothing so he would not be dragged over with her. He anxiously watched her inelegant descent into the water, catching his breath until she broke the surface, still alert. He plastered a cocky grin onto his face, as he continued to watch her splutter in impotent fury at her mistreatment.

"Well, off you go, then," he called down to her, gesturing, urging her towards the island. "You said you had to go back. I was just helping you on your way. Toodle-loo. Let me know when you return." He waved cheerily, then made as if to turn away.

"Jack, you bastard!" he heard her screech through the sounds of her splashing. He turned back in a show of mock surprise.

"What a lovely vocabulary you have acquired, me luv! Gets me tingly all over just hearing such endearments." He stood back from the rail and watched her in bemusement, while she was continued to tread water, splashing viciously, and spewing invectives.

"The least you could do is to let me have a boat," she snarled at him. He grinned, walked over to where the longboat had been hauled on board, and released it to settle into the water next to her.

"Your chariot awaits, milady. Just bring it back in one piece, eh?" he shouted to her as he watched her scramble aboard. She was still muttering and cursing, as he turned from the side of the ship and made his way to his cabin.

Night fell, shrouding the sky in its curtain of darkness, and Jack wandered out of his cabin after a long day of sleep. He had played with the idea of moving the ship further out to give her a bit of a scare, but he felt that he had done enough to get her back. After all, all she had done was to knock his hat off.

He rubbed at his beard, fingering his braids. He realized he needed to redo them, although it was a bit disconcerting to realize that they hadn't grown much since the last time. He had read somewhere that hair and fingernails still grew after one died, but it seemed that in his case he had to truly be dead for that to happen. Or maybe it couldn't happen, because he had been devoured by a sea beast. Regardless, he doubted the tale to be true, because in his experience he knew that while skin and even bone rotted, hair did not. He knew this because his own had been dirty and unkempt for longer than he could remember, and it was still not rotten. Thus, if someone's hair did not rot in his or her grave while the rest of him or her did, it would seem as if the hair grew. That was _his_ theory.

He scowled and peered out at the island. He saw little in the way of lights, which did not surprise him, considering the population numbered at two with a visitor. He wondered when, or even _if_, that visitor was going to return to him and the Pearl. Glancing up at the sky, he ascertained that he still could not see stars by which to navigate, though a passing thought nudged him into wondering if he _could_ see the stars whether or not they would be in patterns familiar to him.

Suddenly, he realized that he heard a faint splashing. He rushed over to the rail just in time to see a shadowy figure of a longboat heave into view.

"You know, you could have lit a lantern for me to see where the ship was," she snapped. Guiltily he scampered back to the cabin and brought one out, lighting it on his way. He held it up as she held the rope leading to the boat and climbed on board. Together they dragged the boat to the hoists to haul it aboard.

"Did you enjoy your trip?" he said, disguising the minor worry he had felt just prior to her arrival. "Lots of hugs and weeping and heartfelt promises to write and all that tripe?" He snickered at her as she rolled her eyes at his flat humor and they both continued to pull at the lines.

As the boat reached the top of the hoists, he realized all of a sudden, he was hearing a rustling movement. He threw back the tarp that had covered the boat, and to his amazement he found some tied up rabbits, both alive and slaughtered, and a few hens that resembled turkeys.

"Meat!" he yelped in delight. He grabbed Elizabeth around the waist and hauled in close. He had not realized how sorely he was going to miss having meat. He did not know how she did it, but he knew she had not done it for herself.

"Oh, how I love you Lizzie," he breathed into her hair as he held her close.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N Someone mentioned to me that I seem to be turning this into an epic. It seems to be true, although it was not intended at first. The more I write, the more I think of TO write, and in the end I just pray it doesn't turn into a sprawling directionless piece of crap. I'm trying to stay true to the theme, but I'm finding myself adding plotlines that weren't anticipated. Perhaps I will have to turn this into a series just so that each can be a story unto itself. Who knows? I'll figure it out as I go along.

I also recently discovered an error I made in a previous chapter. Yes, I know there are more than one, but this one is pretty glaring. Or maybe not so much. I'll throw it out to you guys and see if any of you caught it. I don't have anything to offer… wait…. I have a few OC characters coming up that will need names. If you are the first to tell me the error I made, you will get a character named after you. Think of it … immortality in a fanfic … that in the end, few will read. You just can't go wrong.

Chapter 13: To Discuss, or ... Maybe Not

As he brought the ship about to get underway, he chewed the inside of his cheek in frustration. He very carefully avoided watching Elizabeth unload the animals and take them below decks to the pens and cages where they would reside on their voyage prior to being used as dinner. He knew he probably should have offered to do so, especially after she had so kindly procured them, but after her little display, he was leery of even standing in her presence. He scowled in confusion at the recently created memory, reliving it in his mind bit by bit to try to discern what he had done wrong.

He had just thanked her for bringing the animals aboard, when suddenly she shoved him brusquely away, looking quite incensed. "I _do_ wish you would stop calling me that," she renounced huffily. He had blinked, frozen in place, not too eager to move lest she find fault with that, as well. She had never reacted so vehemently against his using the nickname previously, so he wondered what caused her to change her mind.

"Luv," he ventured cautiously, stepping slowly forward as if he was approaching a wild beast. As it was, he never knew her next move, so a wild beast she may as well have been for all he knew. "It was not my intention to irk Your Highness…" Oh, that was brilliant, he thought, as her hand connected with his cheek. He paused a moment before nodding curtly towards her, and stalked off looking for lanterns to illuminate the deck, still wondering what had brought on the initial retort.

He gently gripped the wheel as he swung the rudder about, unconsciously caressing the knobs that were worn silky smooth from years of handling. He continued to stare out beyond the bow of his vessel, scanning the darkened horizon. He had not planned on setting sail at quite so late an hour, but the wind had picked up. Add that to a full day's rest, and he was raring to go. He did not imagine they would go very far. He did not expect that Elizabeth had much more in her to keep her going after the work she had done, so he decided to just pull away from the island a little further. Sometimes he thought he could still hear the low moans of the cursed sailors, so the more distance he could put between them and himself, the better.

He heard a step to his right, as Elizabeth ascended to the top of the stairs to the quarterdeck. He had a brief flash of memory, of himself standing at the top of those steps, one foot clamping down a dropped musket, as he watched young Turner struggle to free himself from the net holding the casks of gunpowder and what he now understood to be the rum. The look of relief and joy on her face upon seeing him stand there had almost distracted him from the task at hand. Feeling her wrap herself around his leg had almost made him drop the musket in surprise, except that he knew that doing so would have spoiled the whole tableau he knew it must have presented: the image of the young bedraggled Governor's daughter, clutching the legs of a mangy pirate as he rescued her love. Of course, the mangy pirate had designs on her himself, although he knew in his heart he probably would never be able to bring himself to follow through. He had blown too many opportunities to do so, and he did not think that anything would change. He just could not do that to Bootstrap's boy, no matter what he felt for the whelp.

Her voice brought him back to the present. He realized he had been gazing steadily at the stairs, and drew his eyes back to center, staring forward, lips tightened in a grimace. He knew she had caught the look, but there was no point in encouraging any comment. Despite his attempt to avoid the conversation, she spoke.

"Perhaps it is time for a talk," she declared, firmly. He grimaced, recognizing such words as those that often presaged a change in a relationship … or the foreshadowing of something equally as dramatic … and a little frightening. He really wanted neither at this point. So he did the most sensible thing he could think to do.

"Miss Swann, I …" he began.

"Jack, please. We really need to do this. I shall be waiting in your cabin." With that she promptly spun and descended the steps, leading the way.

Jack, of course, decided he would be better off staying where he was: however, the idea of Lizzie being in his cabin … alone … intrigued him. Maybe if he could manipulate the situation, he might … just might …

He hurriedly tied the wheel off.

As he entered the cabin, he noticed two bottles of rum waiting on the table. Elizabeth had made herself useful, lighting the lanterns and lamps scattered about.

"Mind you don't light too many, luv," he muttered. "No need to waste the oil for just a talk." She shot him a sour look and extinguished the one she had just lit. She wandered over to where she had placed the bottles, took one, then made herself comfortable in one of the chairs at the table. He grabbed the other bottle and sat at the end where his charts and books were laid out. He had not been able to plot their progress, but he was determined to keep his Captain's Log up to date. He carefully pushed them to the side, propped his feet up on the table, making himself comfortable, and waited.

"We really are a pair," she began. "You and I. I and you. We've been together, seen it all, and yet we cannot cease being at each other's throats." She pushed her bottle away and supported her chin on her interlaced fingers. As he watched and listened, he became focused on her bottom lip, which seemed to be poking out a bit in a pout. Idly, he wondered how she would react if he tried to taste it. Considering her somber mood, he did not think his attempt would fare well. He felt his breeches tighten at the thought, though, and knew he should usher her out of his cabin before…

Suddenly, he took in a sharp inaudible breath as he realized she was watching him pursing his lips and smoothing his moustache. He immediately dropped his hand to the bottle and lifted it for another swig. His gaze never left her face, as she suddenly crimsoned and dropped her own eyes, blinking rapidly, as if trying to erase a thought from her mind.

Feeling strangely awkward, he rose again from the table, but brushed against his charts, causing them to slip dangerously close to the edge. He grabbed at them, then tried to seize his bottle of rum as he bumped it while rescuing his papers. The rum sloshed out soaking some of the charts and in the chaos, suddenly all his navigational tools and compass slid to the floor, clattering and bouncing as they fell. The only thing, ironically, that he managed to save with any finesse, was his bottle of rum.

He heard a stifled snort issue from his companion. He raised his eyes from the mess on the floor around the table to her face, but her mouth was buried in her hands. She noticed his glare and began to shake in paroxysms of laughter. He quietly set his rum onto the table and began to gather his ruined charts. He supposed he was going to have to fix them later when his hand was steadier and he was not so distracted. Elizabeth, upon calming her glee, dove under the table to retrieve the dropped articles. He watched her as she gathered them, her round, firm derriere thrust out from under the table. He felt himself twitch and decided that enough was enough. He grabbed her hips, hauling her out from under the table and stood her up. He then seized her wrist, and started marching her unceremoniously towards his door, his earlier intentions, strangely, flying out the windows and gaps in the walls as he did so.

"Miss Swann … I may call you Miss Swann … mayn't I?" he huffed. "I believe our little visit is at an end." She stumbled as he dragged her behind him, bumping into the table and chairs.

"Jack! Jack!" she protested. "It was just an accident!" She tried unsuccessfully to swallow her laughter, but he could see it playing at the edges of her eyes.

"I do not have 'accidents,'" he said peevishly, turning on her at the door of the cabin. He held the handle of the door in one hand as he attempted to guide her through. "Especially accidents that involve the destruction of my charts and tools. That compass is our only way out of here, and if it has been broken…"

"Are you suggesting that I had anything to do with the destruction of your compass?" she queried. "As I recall, it was not working that well for you in the first place."

Without warning, he had her pinned against the door frame, both hands trapping her waist as he leaned in dangerously close. He had hoped to give her a bit of a scare, being face to face with him in such close quarters, but the gaze he met was not one of a meek maiden. Her glare was challenging in return, and he was not absolutely sure, but it certainly seemed like she was inviting him to do his worst.

"And as I recall, I told you that it works just fine," he growled, suddenly realizing to himself how true that was. Every single time, since about three months after sailing from Port Royal following his near miss with the hanging, he had discovered it pointing resolutely back, and then away, repeatedly, from where she resided. At first he had thought that it was merely reminding him of his desire to plow the last virgin soil he had encountered, but as time grew on, he realized it was more than that. Here she stood, chin up, stoically staring back at him, daring him to follow through with his implied threats.

"Prove it," she snarled back softly.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N Hopefully the next couple of chapters will come along easier. I had a hard time with that last one.

This chapter will be the one to finally earn that M rating. It could have been written somewhat less gratuitously, but when you read it, I hope you can appreciate _why_ I chose not to do so.

Still no replies on the "contest". Come on all you literature buffs. I'm waiting.

Chapter 14: A Challenge Met

His eyes widened. He pulled back from her, turning to enter the cabin to retrieve his compass. He would show the wench that it did indeed work. He just hoped that in his clumsiness he had not inadvertently made himself to be a liar … at least in _this_ regard. Well … even before he dropped it … After a split second's hesitation he continued to pull away from her, when he felt her hands grip his arms. He slowly turned back to her as realization dawned on him, as his conscious thought caught up to what his body already recognized. Her challenge was not for him to show how his _compass_ worked for him.

His breath quickened as did his heartbeat, and the pulsing in his ears almost deafened him. The sight before him dimmed at the edges as the flecks in her irises drew into sharp focus. He watched as her eyes slid down to his own mouth, and felt himself tighten further into stiff arousal when her tongue darted out of her mouth in a quick lip-moistening sweep. He sucked in a deep shaky breath, smelling and tasting her woodsy, musky scent, an aroma of which he had been all too aware since they had lain beneath the starless sky a few nights earlier.

Turner be damned. He was going to have her tonight, especially since she was all too eager to let him, and making him aware of it in no uncertain terms. She apparently was not so forgiving of Will's disposal of her, as Jack was in her doing likewise to him.

He leaned fully into her, allowing her to feel his excitement, as he sought out her lips in a bruising kiss. She met him full on, grinding her own form into his, from lips to thighs, clutching him to her as she opened her mouth, eagerly seeking to steal his breath from him. Tongues probing, hands stroking and grasping, they staggered into the cabin, with him brusquely guiding her back towards his table. He grabbed her around her middle, and gruffly hauled her up to sit her on the edge. Never taking their eyes off each other, they parted briefly as he began to rid her of her garments. As he peeled away her vest he realized that she had not made an attempt to bind her breasts as she had done earlier when they were sailing to find Will. Instead, his hand brushed against the front and he watched in delight as a nipple hardened and peaked, making a small tent out of the shirt. He hissed in anticipation of seeing that nipple up close. He placed a finger along the neckline of the chemise, tracing her collarbone, following the line down towards her cleavage. As he began to pull the opening wider, her hand snaked up to seize his.

"You are always wanting to make things square, Jack. I lost the vest. It's your turn to lose something."

He felt a whimper try to escape him from the back of his throat. He'd waited so long for this, that it seemed torture to make him wait longer now that he knew the moment had finally arrived. His erection was straining to break free, but he knew his pants could not be the first thing to lose. It seemed she was allowing him to make the choice.

"All right, darlin'," he agreed. "You lost the vest, I will lose mine. You lose the chemise, and I shall do the same. And so on and so forth. One thing you must remember, luv, the headgear remains where it is, savvy?"

"Agreed, as long as I keep my hat, as well," she smirked in reply. He cocked an eyebrow at her, visualizing the tricorn firmly perched on her head while she was in the throes of passion underneath him. He almost lost his stern expression, but instead, nodded to assent to this compromise.

"Besides, I understand your reluctance to show off _all_ your scars," she whispered, softly stroking her thumb along his right eyebrow.

It was true. That particular scar was not a badge of honor that he bore. It was a painful memento of a stupid miscalculation in judgment on his part when he was still learning the ways of piracy. Being scalped was not a healthy way to continue into one's future, especially when the tribe involved did not traditionally practice that particular form of torture, and especially when the suggestion came from the one being tortured.

He wondered idly how Elizabeth had come across that bit of information, but since he was enjoying a rather pleasurable tonguing down his neck into his own collarbone area, he decided to ask her later. He let his eyes slowly shut as felt her reach into his shirt, pulling it open as she continued down his chest. He knew suddenly that she had changed the rules of the game already, since her chemise was not even untucked, but at this point he was almost past caring. He just wanted to enjoy this, at least while it lasted. He was never positive what cunning thing the minx had up her sleeve, but he enjoyed the anticipation immensely. He decided he _could_ wait after all.

He felt her pull away, and he opened his eyes to see that she had a small crease formed between her eyebrows. She seemed a bit concerned with his lack of response. He went still, as she suddenly realized that it was her turn to disrobe. His breath began to quicken again as she slowly, ever so slowly started to pull her chemise out of her trousers. He felt himself begin to swell again, having lost some rigidity when he was distracted with his thoughts, and reached down to adjust, very casually running his hand up the shaft to encourage it along. She caught sight of the gesture, and reached down to do the same, watching his face to see his reaction. As soon as she did so, suddenly everything exploded.

Jack's hands burrowed up her sides underneath the chemise to hurriedly assist her in removing it. As she lifted it over her head, his tongued followed, burying itself between her breasts, breathing in her scent. He reached with his hands to encircle the mounds the best he could, allowing his calloused hands to scrape along the hardened nipples. Her hands entwined behind his head, entangling in his locks, as he kneaded one breast, feeling the soft pliability of the areola thicken and wrinkle up in his hand as he nursed on the other one, nibbling and licking at it with abandon. When the nipple softened and smoothed back into the breast, he turned to the other to give it the same treatment

He glanced up to her face, and almost lost control when he saw her full lips parted, panting, and her eyes closed in ecstasy. For someone who had never had any experience in being with a man, she certainly was taking to it easily enough. He began to wonder just how far she had gotten with Will, and it certainly explained her eagerness for her wedding night, although he had had no doubts that this was what she had desired. He decided that no matter how far they had explored, there was still much for him to teach her, and he was anticipating doing just that.

He drew her closer to him, allowing her to wrap her legs around his hips and he trailed his kisses and nibbles back up to her jawline, keeping his hand busy, kneading her breasts and pulling on her nipples. He knew from previous experience that was the perfect way to get her to focus on her more southerly region, for each pull, each tug sent a line of fire down to it, inflaming her. He knew it was working as she gripped her bottom lip with her teeth, and sucked in air as he did so. He set up a rhythm, soon becoming wrapped up in the pulse of it, and desiring this to go further, he reached behind her to cushion her as he laid her down on the table. He undid her breeches and began to slide them down her waist.

She suddenly came to her senses. The glare she gave him almost gave him pause, but he decided that he had had enough of her games. This time he was going to do it his way.

"Trust me, Lizzy," he said encouragingly, as he continued to slide her breeches down. He lifted her derriere off the table as they came off, and he was met with a sight that he had never expected to see. He dipped his finger in briefly and was met with a buck from her hips and a sigh. His erection spasmed as his finger felt her wetness, almost as if it could not wait to feel it for itself. It was all he could do to refrain from dropping his trousers and driving himself inwards. He heard her panting and little mewls of pleasure encouraged him to continue. He continued his ministrations on her breasts with one hand as he flicked his finger against the little nub at her center with the other, sliding his finger in a circular fashion around it, and upon occasion dipping back into her well to retrieve more of her copious moisture for lubrication. As he stroked her thusly, she reacted to the rhythm he had established. With each successive stroke and dip, she bucked and sighed, beginning to pant with almost a keening wail when he briefly pulled away. He soon began to feel her muscles tighten at each dip as if she was trying to hold his fingers prisoner. He thrust them in a little further each time, only allowing a brief taste of fullness. Soon he had three fingers dancing inside her, stroking her in spots that had begun to be sensitive to the point of agony, which was evident in her sobs of pleasure.

He realized at that point he needed to get some personal time in her pool. Feeding her frenzy with his hand did not satisfy his own hunger. With a tug, he pulled her curvaceous form off the table and settled her into his embrace, holding her as her legs entwined around his hips, grinding herself in thrusts against the bulge in his trousers. Blindly, he stumbled with his increasingly awkward and excited cargo towards his bunk, kissing and gnawing on her lips as he traveled. He landed unceremoniously on top of her in the rack, briefly squashing her. Regardless of the change in venue, she continued to pant and thrust herself against him. With a slight cry of his own he shoved his trousers towards his ankles and proceeded to lose himself within her folds, plunging into her depths.

Briefly he felt her spasm, and watched as her eyes closed and her breath cease as she experienced her first small orgasm. It was not enough to send him over the edge, so he continued stroking within her, feeling her flex and release. Her face, slack with pleasure and eyes heavy lidded with lust, gazed back up into his. He grinned, as if seeing the woman before him for the first time.

"Captain Jack," she moaned breathily, causing him to jerk a little inside her. He paused briefly to listen to her words, expecting the sort he often heard when women were impressed with his … technique. She sighed and spoke again. "You are soooo much better than …" Suddenly, she seemed to realize that she almost misspoke. Jack grinned wider at the implication.

"Of course, luv. I am not the eunuch such as your bonnie Will," he responded confidently as he watched her cheeks redden in a most becoming blush. Considering how dark it was in the cabin, she must have been quite embarrassed for him to see it, but instead of another sigh of contentment, she puffed out a gust of exasperation.

"It was not Will to whom I was referring," she breathed out, keeping him all too aware that he was still buried to the hilt between her legs. He was feeling himself twitch again, as if in reminder that he was not quite finished, when she, oh so casually, finished her thought. "I was referring to Hector."

After a brief, oh so brief and slightly horrifying, interlude, almost an eternal, but brief, interlude … he started thrusting. As he pushed himself up deeper into her, shoving inside as much of himself as he could, the initial look of discomfort at his rough handling gave way as he felt her constrict around him, both on the inside and with her arms around his waist. He turned his face away from hers, scrunching it up in intense concentration as he pounded into her, seeking release and relief. Her gasps and moans grew louder when she reached her second wave of ecstasy, and as she bucked violently in return, he spilled into her with a grunt and a shiver, enjoying what he could of her muscles milking the last drops into herself. He collapsed with a groan, remembering that it had been quite awhile since he had last had a woman, feeling aches that would normally have been pleasurable after such an escapade. Instead, he lay on his back, gulping in much needed air, and willing himself to stay awake long enough to finish what he planned to do. He felt her last sigh, and soon her body relaxed contentedly.

He turned her to face away from him as if to spoon her against him, while quickly divesting himself of the rest of his lower garments and boots to dump them over the side of the bunk, as he smoothly retrieved a hidden knife. Before she was able to turn to see what he was doing, the knife was pressed against the soft flesh of her throat.

"Now, lass," he whispered menacingly into her ear, feeling her suddenly tense with the realization of her perilous situation. "Let us revisit an earlier discussion. Who exactly _are _you … _really?"_


	15. Chapter 15

AN I hope you Sparrabeth shippers don't kill me too hard. Hang tough though. More is yet to come.

Also… I feel it my duty to do this.

Peak – The top of a mountain or hill.

Peek – To peer through or around something.

Heal – To cure or recover from an injury or illness.

Heel – The back part of a foot.

Steal – To take without permission.

Steel – A metallic alloy used in swords.

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, USE THIS AS A GUIDE!

You have NO idea how many well written stories I've read with all these words spelled incorrectly. Spellcheck does NOT catch improperly used homonyms.

Chapter 15: Bargains

He sprinted out the door, heading for the galley. Bursting through the already battered door and leaving it barely hanging on its last hinge, he tore through knocking crates aside to get to the bow of the ship. Slamming the forward hatch open he slowed, stepping forward cautiously as he peered over the side of the ship towards the bowsprit. Peering up under it, he flinched. Even through the murky darkness, he could see an empty space, a space where the Pearl's figurehead should be.

A light step sounded just behind him and he whipped around to witness his recent bedmate move to join him as she tried to gather her clothes in a more modest fashion about her.

"I did tell you," she sighed. "I have been trying to tell you from the start, but you seemed so determined that I was someone else."

Speechless, which for Jack was a rare state of being, he continued his wide-eyed darting glances between the woman and the empty spot on his ship. Vaguely aware that he was out in the open without any trousers on, he stood transfixed to the spot as if working out some puzzle he could not quite grasp.

He felt her hand wrap gently around his forearm, tightening slightly as he tried to pull away. He turned to glare wildly at her, reacting to her as if she were some horror to escape. His eyes fell on hers, and he noticed, perhaps not for the first time, but certainly for the first time conscientiously, the age and wisdom that were trapped within. She was certainly not the young fearless debutante that had sailed with him from Tortuga to, literally, the jaws of death. He wondered how he, Captain Jack Sparrow, had missed it.

"You are my ship," he whispered. "I have just made love to my ship." He shook his head to clear the fogginess, the confusion.

"I am not the Pearl, just the essence of the Pearl," she corrected. "I exist to keep watch over the Pearl and all those aboard, particularly the Captain."

"Aye, and you watched us get decimated by the Kraken, and watched as I was shackled to the mast and eaten alive. Fat lot of good that did for me," he sniped as he turned to march back to his cabin, finally feeling a little overexposed to the world.

"I was unable to do anything about that," she shot back. "After all, I was not the one to make such a stupid deal with Davy Jones. Besides, before we got to the Locker, I was nothing but the essence, a spirit."

He heard her sigh heavily. Grinding his teeth, he shoved his legs into his breeches and set to work getting his boots back on his feet, all the while trying to avoid looking into her ageless eyes.

"Do you remember what the Odyssey says about the Phaecians?" she asked him. This question brought his gaze back to hers.

"I am not a Phaecian," he announced firmly.

"No, you are not, as the race died out millennia ago," she confirmed. "But their sailing secrets, known only to themselves and to the Gods, did not die out."

"Yes, yes, they were great sailors, but I also recall that they were extremely magnanimous and friendly people. I am a pirate. How does this pertain to me? Or to you for that matter?" He grunted as one boot slipped snug onto his foot.

"Some mortals were given the secrets, to protect their loved ones, or to bestow as rewards for great deeds," she continued, apparently ignoring his question.

"Some mortals?" he queried. "The only mortal I know with this sort of knowledge would be …" He paused, startled. He looked closely at the thing-that-looked-like-Elizabeth, and frowned. He noticed how closely she resembled Elizabeth in the face, hair, and even mannerisms, but the body was not right. The figurehead-cum-human had a much more curvaceous form than the delectable Miss Swann's. It appeared closer to that of a certain witch with whom he had shared an evening or two in his youth.

He leaned over and gently kissed the mulatto woman's eyelids as she slept. Softly running his finger over her tattooed cheeks, he still felt some qualms for bedding this mysterious young woman with ancient eyes, yet disarming smile. He had felt the need to delve more into the whys and wherefores concerning his so-called destiny to which she had hinted prior to his capture by Beckett's goons. After his encounter with her while still in his cell, he had become quite certain that she was the one to whom he had to return to get his answers. She had greeted him joyfully when he arrived at her island after escaping the prison, so joyfully that he had tumbled into her cot with her writhing wildly in his arms.

He slowly moved off the cot, not wishing to wake her just yet. It was close to morning, and he had slept fitfully between bouts of lovemaking. He needed to return to Tortuga soon to find some means to feed his love of the sea. Beckett had burned and sunk his ship as part of the torture prior to his own hanging, but he was determined to find another to commandeer.

He took a swig of rum into his mouth, letting it run over his gums and tongue, washing away the stickiness of the night's activities. As he sat at her table, watching the morning sun's brightness trickle down to the swampy surroundings, he heard her movements as she slowly wakened with contented moans. He scrubbed at his half grown beard, not used to the feeling of hair on his chin. Until his branding, he had kept himself clean shaven, with his hair pulled back tidily and tethered with a simple ribbon. It no longer seemed necessary to do so now.

Soon, he heard her step, and her hands rested on his shoulders, kneading them, loosening the tightness he had not realized was present until then. As he relaxed into her massage, her voice soared and dropped as it flowed about him in her singsong dialect. He soon realized that she was actually talking to him.

"… and now you have something to do for me," he heard her finish.

"Sorry, I misheard you," he quipped. "Was not last night as good a payment for services rendered…?" He was unable to finish, as his voice pitched upwards into a yelp of pain as her grip tightened fiercely on his neck. Such a pinch seemed abnormal for such delicate hands.

"Young captain," she hissed. "You have much to learn about bargaining if a mere night in bed with me is payment for your life."

"And I thought my escape was my payment for the freedom of the slaves," he whined.

"And who do you think is having to feed, shelter, protect and teach the slaves to live here? Such a task requires payment, and payment is due." Her hands dropped from his shoulders as she circled to confront him face to face.

"You are a ship's captain, a captain without a ship." Her hands came up to her bosom and started toying with a silver heart pendant nestled between her mounds. "I know where a ship lies, and one who can help us with the raising of said ship."

"I still do not see how the Phaecians have anything to do with this," he bickered. "After all, it did not save me from getting eaten alive."

"The Phaecians were renowned sailors not just through their navigational and practical skills," she carefully explained. "Their ships also had special powers. In a sense, they were alive."

"They had walking, talking figureheads?" He raised an eyebrow and stood to approach her. "Did they all sleep with their captains? Or is that just a particular skill of your own?"

"Need I remind you that you did not meet me as I am until you got to the Locker?" she snapped back. Apparently, her temper was not limitless.

"Oh, yes, let us go into that. Why did I not meet you before the Kraken? Why now? Why with Elizabeth's face? And one more thing," he snarled, looming over her. "How were you able to compare my lovemaking skills with Barbossa's?"


	16. Chapter 16

A/N I really do apologize for the jerkiness of the flashback/current scene breaks in the previous chapters. I've been experimenting with various ways to try to get past determination to completely reformat my story once I've uploaded it, but haven't found a method that works. If anyone can help me here (preferably by adding lines rather than the string of letters or having to insert flashback thereby disrupting the visual flow,) let me know. I may have to resort to those methods in the end, but I would rather exhaust my other options first.

Believe it or not… I've never read the Odyssey before I started this. However, the mention of one of its characters being one in the next movie urged me to investigate it to see if there was more that I could use. Since it is an epic with its major character as a sailor, I figured there could be something interesting. Although it is a tough read, I am fascinated by it, and can understand why it has existed for millennia as classic literature. However, also, I may have gotten some things wrong. Just take it as from someone who has never been professionally taught the meanings of the piece, or personal poetic license, or even as a thumb in Homer's face as someone who got it wrong in the first place and I'm just correcting it. (Come on, if the PotC writers can do it… ummm…. Well… they do have a blockbuster movie or two to their credit….)

Ok… enough rambling… (Don't you just hate long a/n's?) On with the story.

Chapter 16: Ruminations and Regrets

"Land, ho!" he heard her call from the crow's nest. He glanced up to her to see where she was pointing, and headed to the nearest rail to aim his telescope in that direction. To the port side, a little ahead of them, a long strip of mountainous land loomed along the horizon, promising a bit of a respite after several days of sailing. He had not really spoken to her except to give the occasional order or the odd bit of small talk over dinner, so he was looking forward to a little bit of exploration to break up the monotony.

Yes, the past several days had been strained. He would catch himself watching her as she conducted herself on her various tasks, only climbing down from the ratlines or crow's nest when the ship was drifting to a stop. He allowed for that since it seemed her best work was done while she was able to keep her eyes open to the sea around her. She could still keep the ship going, even without the wind, but it was more exhausting. With her up in the rigging, he really did not even need to be at the wheel. Her affinity with his ship was a little disturbing, but in light of the facts she finally related to him, he found he could exploit some of her more hidden talents to his liking.

Her confessions to how she came to be were more disturbing. He could almost feel the strings that Tia Dalma had so carefully tied to his limbs, head … even soul … through the years, by simply enchanting the figurehead of his beloved Wicked Wench when Squidhead had lifted her from the ocean's depths. Her wrath when she had discovered the deal he had made with the slimy captain had almost been worse than any Kraken attack.

She had intended for him to take her along when she divulged who their benefactor was to be. Instead, he had slipped away that evening, sailing in a stolen fishing boat, (not unlike the one he stole from Anamaria some years later), to the place where Beckett had destroyed his career with the East India Trading Company. He waited there a few days for a storm which never came. Instead, knowing he was coming to the end of his supplies, he punched a hole in the bottom of his boat, and let it sink under him. He screamed for help, halfheartedly at first, then earnestly when it became clear that he really was in trouble, but until the storm hit while he was feebly clutching onto the last crate still floating, the Dutchman refused to arrive. As the prow of the barnacle encrusted ghost ship finally did break the surface, he saw the aqueous gaze of his rescuer peering over the rail at him. Suddenly, he was not so sure this had been such a good idea.

As the horribly disfigured crew of the Dutchman hauled him aboard to confront their captain, his mind worked feverishly to find a solution to his predicament. All that had been fueling him up until now was the desperate pull to gain his ship, his captaincy, back. Now, his own freedom, the one that Tia Dalma had helped him to gain, was in jeopardy. He wished he had stuck around to find out more of her plan before taking matters into his own hands.

The walking cephalopod clomped his way across the deck to stand before him. He took out his pipe from an inner fold in his jacket, tamped whatever waterproof smoking agent happened to be in the bowl, and lit it. The whole maneuver spoke of a long-practiced ritual, a ceremony played out on every shipwreck visited by this Demon of the Seas. The monster leaned down and took a puff from his pipe, allowing the smoke to escape his lungs, (or gills,) through inhuman orifices on his face. Through the slick, sliding, sucking sound of his tentacles as he studied Jack's face came the equally slimy sound of his voice.

"Do ye fear death?" Jack shuddered at the words, but not in the fear Jones expected, rather in disgust. Before he could go on, Jones's hairless eyebrows dropped into a scowl, betraying his surprise at Jack's reaction.

"I … I am not certain if I understand the question," replied the young captive. Since he had very deliberately sailed to meet Davy Jones to beg the favor, he was not particularly afraid to meet him. He was more concerned with being denied the favor and losing his freedom, but fear was not a factor.

Jones, of course, obviously not having dealt with this sort of behavior from his potential crew, drew back in consternation. "I asked ye if ye feared death," he said slowly, as if speaking to an imbecile. Jack, to make certain that Jones did not continue to think him an imbecile, replied just as slowly and succinctly.

"And I said that I did not understand the question." An exasperated snort came from the creature. He turned to his crew, and dismissively waved toward Jack.

"Dispose of him. He will not be useful as dim as he appears to be." With that he began his lumbering stride to his cabin, as Jack felt the appendages of Jones's crew grasp him.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, _wait!_" he cried out as he was being hauled to the rail. "Tia Dalma said that you would be able to help me!" As he felt a claw start to yank his head back to bare his throat for the sword that was poised to slice it, he saw out the corner of his eye the hat jerk up at the mention of the witch's name.

"_Belay that order!_" came the oily voice of the Dutchman's captain. Jack felt the claws and crusty hands fall away, albeit reluctantly, but the disappointment of the crew at losing their prey was not voiced. They knew their captain well enough to understand the punishments he could mete out for insolence. Instead, they quietly but eagerly stood waiting in case his mind changed once more, as Jack took a few moments to catch his breath again while Jones trundled back to confront him.

"What did ye say?" Jones breathed tersely into Jack's face. Jack swallowed, trying not to lose whatever was left in his belly, which was not much.

"_Tia Dalma _said you would be able to help me," he emphasized, realizing that it was not the what but the who that had caught Jones's attention. "Lovely young lass … er … woman that. Pretty little tattoos on her cheeks …"

"I know _who_ she be, dolt. Likely much better than ye," hissed Jones. "I wonder how it be that _ye_ know of her."

"Well, I do, and she did promise me that you would be a sport and help me out of a bit of a jam." Jack knew it was a gamble, but he was betting that Jones could not risk the witch's ire by killing her messenger outright without hearing his offer.

"It could not be much more of a _jam_ than what ye are in now, young whelp …," began the creature.

"Which would be easily cleared up and taken care of if my ship were returned to me so I can move on." Jack hurried to get his words out before the captain decided it was not worth his while to continue the conversation.

"Ye have been sittin' here for nigh on a fortnight, boy. Ye could have sailed away durin' that time, but no. Ye thrust yer heel through the keel of yer own vessel, which I could hardly call a ship, and now that I have ye on board, ye think yer in a _bit of a jam_?"

"Actually, that was not the vessel to which I was referring," began Jack, as he realized he had his audience. This may be easier than he had anticipated. "I was referring to the burnt out hull that is gracing the seabed somewhere beneath us. It was sent down prematurely due to the arson of a wicked, wicked man who only likes the people who work for him …"

"As opposed to those who refuse to follow orders," interjected the captain. "Perhaps burnin' yer ship was too good a punishment fer the likes o' ye." Jones began to circle Jack, inspecting him a little closer. The young captain swore he could feel the tentacles reaching out to touch him and he fought from shying away from them.

"Honestly, mate, I really do not see why he had to treat the ship so reprehensibly as it was my folly what got me into this jam. You see, all I did was release some cargo … _human cargo_ …" He let his voice trail off, vaguely hoping to get some admiration from the monster, at least thereby proving there was some decency left in the mutated form.

"So, ye disobeyed orders and ye expect me to help to get yer hulk back fer ye." He drew on his pipe, continuing to think it over. He finished his inspection and stood before Jack again. "And by what name do ye go by, whelp?"

"I am known as Captain Jack … er … Sparrow," he answered grandiosely, arms swept out in a flamboyant bow.

"Ye may be known as such, but it might help ye to learn yer own name, boy," said the ancient mariner, as the crew chuckled behind him. Jack stood back up again with a disgruntled cough. The monster's blue eyes shut in thought while Jack stood shifting slightly on his feet waiting.

"Boy, yer story touches me, but not as ye think it could. Fer one thing, ye be a pirate, one that does not take orders verra well. I will do this fer ye … on one condition." He turned his eyes back on to Jack's. "Once I give ye yer vessel back, yer to have five years as its master before ye return it to the sea, and serve under me for one hundred years. That will teach ye to follow orders."

Jack almost choked. Five years. Hardly enough time to even get the ship cleaned up and enjoy her before he had to let her go.

"Not good enough," he replied. Jones's head snapped back. He, apparently, had thought he was being more than fair. "Five years is too short a time. I will return her, and come to serve you … but you need to give me twenty-five. What's that length of a time to someone as long-lived as you?"

"Too long fer a pirate, especially one as young and impetuous as the likes of ye. I will grant ye ten years, as long as durin' that time, if ye should die at sea, yer soul is mine to serve out the rest of yer time."

"Still too little time. How about twenty?" Seeing the disapproving glare of the creature he continued. "Fifteen?" He knew he could not go much lower, considering he had a puzzle or two to work out. The Wench was speedy, but even with the wind at her back she still took many long months to sail to the other side of the world. He may need to get there and back, even twice, before he got all the answers he would need.

"Ten. Yer pushin' yer luck, boy. Are ye not aware how difficult it be to wrest the ruins of a ship from the ocean floor intact?"

"All right, all right … thirteen … my final offer. You can't go wrong with lucky number thirteen." A sound resembling a gurgly grumble issued from the creature's throat.

"Fine then, whelp. Thirteen it be. With one more condition. Should ye fail to meet yer end of the bargain, my pet will be along to see that ye do. She be not so fergivin' as I am." He held out his hand, wrapped the tentacle around Jack's forearm tightly, then let go, not leaving Jack any more room for bargaining.

As Jack rubbed his now hickey spotted arm gingerly, he watched the Demon of the Seas work his powerful magic upon the weather and the waves. After carefully scanning the horizon with his mind's eye, he faced off the starboard bow and raised his appendages above his head. His crew began shifting nervously behind him. Jack could only assume that they had only seen him take down ships before this. Now they were watching him raise one.

Off the side of the Dutchman, a vortex formed … a whirlpool centered over one specific part of the seabed. As the vortex flowed in the water, the wind and rain were drawn to dance in a spiral just above it. Feeling suddenly chilled, and stinging from the piercing raindrops, Jack shuddered and sought shelter. Finding none, he sat huddled behind a creaking mast as the ship pitched forcibly towards the forming maelstrom. He watched in awe as the waves pushed up from the center of the whirlpool, forming a waterspout of immense proportions. In the midst of the spout, his beloved Wench hove into view, groaning and protesting her awakening from her deathbed. Her blackened timbers shone with the slime already beginning to form on her masts and decks, and he wondered how she was able to hold together at all from the forces that normally would have torn her apart. The figurehead hung loosely from the bowsprit, seemingly holding on for dear life. It was certainly the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld, and he almost passed out from the breath he was holding.

As sudden as it began, the storm faded away, leaving a battered but floating vessel alongside the Flying Dutchman. It was probably the first time in decades when any ship could be seen off the starboard bow of the cursed ship that was not destined to sink anytime in the near future. The crew stood in awe of their captain's powers, most likely understanding for the first time how incredibly dangerous this monster was. Jack felt it was time to leave, and to leave quickly, before the monster backed out on his end of the bargain. He certainly felt that any reneging of any deal should be his to choose, not the other party's.

"And how do you propose to get your vessel back to safer waters, Captain Sparrow?" asked the other party. Suddenly, Jack felt his breath catch again. He had not gotten that far in his plans.

"I will be the one to help him," called a higher-pitched lilting tone from the decks of the recently raised barque. All heads aboard the Dutchman whipped to the side to witness Tia Dalma standing on a railing, holding onto the tattered remains of a ratline with one hand. "Jack, please come join me. We have a long trip back to the swamp."

"Yeh, what she said," he said as he hopped along the gangplank he had managed to pry up from the barnacly deck and put into place while everyone had stood with mouths agape at the sight of the witch. Out the corner of his eye, he watched as Jones's mouth hung loose, eyes softened as he gazed aboard the ruined vessel. He took advantage of the lapse of concentration to kick the gangplank off and rushed the helm. As he steered the ship away from the Dutchman, he thanked his lucky stars that he had powerful friends.

Yes, he had friends. Friends that pulled the strings of his life as if he were some marionette. Friends who were not happy with his desire to do things his way, instead of how they tried to guide him. Friends who set spies on him, even to the end of the world and beyond. Friends who, justifiably, did not trust him.

Jack sighed as he felt the ship slow down. He did need the rest. He was feeling increasingly alive each day, hoping that signaled their approach to the edge of this world and the world he knew. With each added bonus of life came the not so agreeable detriments, such as needing sleep, food, and that certain urge that could be curbed by attending to the only apparent female on board. He was not about to take that route again soon, unless and until some things were worked out between them, such as her getting rid of Elizabeth's face. Oh, and confessing why she knew so much about Barbossa. That was one piece of information he was eager for her to divulge, but not now. Now he wanted rest, and rest he would get.


End file.
